Making the Sky Blush
by CoryWebb
Summary: Karofsky/OC centered story.  Basically, a story branching off of the events of NBK, but if Karofsky had something else with an original character I wrote, Cory Webb.  Sexual tension and awkwardness abounds. Rating moved to M 2/21/12 for Chp 8 on...
1. Chapter 1

**Wednesday**

As I opened the door that connected the boy's locker room to the gym, yelling met my ears.

Someone yelled "—little boy who can't handle how extraordinarily ordinary you are!"

And then there was almost absolute silence except for maybe the sound of heavy breathing, but I couldn't really put my finger on it. As I looked around the row of lockers in front of me, I clasped my hands to my mouth to keep from making a sound. At first I didn't understand what was happening- it happened so fast. But then I realized what I was witnessing. Karofsky was kissing Kurt Hummel. Kissing. I whipped my head back around the lockers and sought a place to hide in case Kurt or Dave had seen me. I heard a loud pound on the metal of the lockers and clenched my eyes shut in reaction. Soon after I heard the sound of the outside hall fade in and out—one of them had left the locker room. Then there was just me and the sound of whimpering… That at least meant it probably wasn't Karofsky still in the locker room. As I felt my heart start to slow down, I heard the _click clack_ of Kurt's shoes and the tell-tale fading of the hallway again. I was alone, and what I had seen finally caught up to me.

The image of Karofsky and Kurt kissing rushed through my adrenaline and seared itself into my mind. Were _Karofsky's_ hands on _Kurt's_ face? Wait, _Karofsky_ was kissing _Kurt_? Isn't that what his hands being on Kurt's face meant? Oh wow.

I heard the bell ring and shook myself out of my stupor. I needed to get to class. I exited the locker room and headed down the hall towards my English class. On my way I passed Kurt in the halls. He was crying to himself. I thought about saying something, but I couldn't. In a way, Kurt had saved me. His coming out was the best thing for me—ever since he had, Karofsky had laid off of me. I felt I owed Kurt something, but the price of associating myself with him at this point was too high for me. I wish I was braver, I really do, but I don't think people understood (okay, maybe some of the Gleeks did) how horrible Karofsky could be. He had poured nacho cheese sauce in my gym locker one day. Another time, he had tackled me in football in gym class—during a game of _flag_ football.

I turned into my class and received the usual chiding for being late to English. I was tardy almost every day. I didn't like changing with the others. I was tall, lanky, pale and redheaded. On the first day of school, we had had to shower in the locker rooms, and most of the boys in my class still call me firecrotch. I walked down the aisle to the back of the class and felt my heart try to claw its way out of my throat as I remembered who sat diagonally in front of me in English class—Karofsky.

He didn't look happy. Usually I would attribute it to the fact that it was English class. But today I knew better. As I passed his desk I tripped over something and was barely able to catch myself on my desk. I looked down to see Karofsky's foot holding mine down.

"Watch where you're stepping, firecrotch," Karofsky muttered under his breath.

An image of me telling everyone in class about Karofsky and Kurt's locker room experiment flashed before me, but then it was replaced by me lying in the back of an ambulance while Dave rubbed his sore knuckles. I held my tongue. I sat at my desk and pulled out my binder. The rest of class went by uneventfully. In fact, the rest of the day went by just like any other day. Well, except I still had the image of Kurt and Karofsky in my head.

After school even went normally. I stopped off in the counselor's office to meet my newest peer tutoring student. I tutored through the school for English. I got my form, but written in the 'Notes' section, CANCELLED was written in the desk-worker's hand. I smiled at my newfound freedom for the rest of the day.

The next few weeks passed normally. But I found out that Karofsky had been expelled. That, and I thought I kind of started liking Karofsky. Which was surprising. I mean, I knew I liked guys—that wasn't new, but… _Karofsky_? He had been the bane of my school existence for the entire year. He had locked me in a port-a-potty, put nacho cheese sauce in my locker, pushed, shoved, made fun of me… so why was starting to miss him?

**TUESDAY**

It wasn't long before things got complicated. I got to school one morning and there was talk about Karofsky being back. I initially blew it off as high school gossip, but then I saw him in Figgins' office. My heart tried the whole exit-through-throat thing again, but I managed to choke it down. When I got to English class, Dave wasn't in his seat. I felt relieved and sad at the same time. I hated myself for feeling sad, but part of me couldn't help it. As I went through English class, I noticed I had been doodling a lot lately. Cursive and calligraphic K's filled the margins of a lot of my notes. Oh crap, had I been daydreaming about Karofsky? My name's Cory…. With a _C_. Then I found a doodle of a letterman jacket. Oh crap. Crapcrapcrap. I flipped through my notes enough times that the teacher called on me. I gave the right answer, but I could tell she wasn't happy. After class I headed to the counselor's office to see if I had gotten any new tutoring assignments. I went to my little box on the wall and saw a piece of paper there. I picked it up, scanned it, and rushed out of the office without greeting the desk worker.

I read it over and over on the bus ride home.

Name: _KAROFSKY, DAVID H._

Year: _JUNIOR_

Class: _ENGLISH_

Notes: _MR. KAROFSKY NEEDS TO BE CAUGHT UP ON THE PAST WEEK OF SCHOOL ASSIGNMENTS IN HIS ENGLISH CLASS. HE WILL NEED TO MAKE UP ALL WORK, AND BRING HIS GRADE UP TO A "B" AVERAGE BEFORE HE WILL BE ABLE TO OPT-OUT OF PEER TUTORING.

On the back side of the paper was a hand-written note in the counselor's cursive:

Cory, I've decided you're the best for this student- you share an English class and Mr. Karofsky did not request a specific tutor. Given his record, please don't hesitate to let me know if you don't feel comfortable.

The bus ride didn't last long enough. I would be alone in a room with Dave for an extra hour every Monday and Wednesday. My mind started racing all over the place. The image of him and Kurt kissing, of me in the back of an ambulance, and so many others rushed into my head. Then an image of Karofsky in his boxers, changing in the locker room came by. I dwelt on it for a minute, I'll admit. I felt myself getting hard and shook the thought from my head before anything happened that would make the walk home awkward.

**WEDNESDAY**

The next day went by painfully slow, my stomach in a knot all day—it was Wednesday. My first tutoring appointment with Dave would happen right after class. I walked into English and Dave was there at his desk. I trod carefully around his desk, but he didn't try anything. In fact, I think I might have seen a smile on his face. That was new. Dave and English class were like water and oil. I think one time I heard him ask how to spell the word _loser_, and I think he was serious.

After class I headed towards the counseling office, all the while hearing Karofsky's heavy footprints behind me. I felt sweat start to gather on my forehead. I hadn't turned down the tutoring opportunity—as scared as I was, I wanted to spend time with Karofsky. I felt crazy. I _was_ crazy. But, it was too late to turn back now. I turned into the office and, after greeting the desk worker, went down the hallway in the office to the small office that they had us tutor in. Three tutors usually shared an office, but this year the number of volunteers for peer tutoring had gone down, so this "office" was mine. I heard Dave's voice at the front desk, then the murmur of the office worker's reply, and then the heavy footsteps again. I sat down at the table set up in the middle of the room quickly. Dave walked in and threw his bag on the ground.

He was wearing his letterman jacket, a grey McKinley High t-shirt, and jeans. He looked at me with a bored expression and I tried to respond with a smile that didn't reflect how I felt inside.

"Hi, Dave," I said, trying to sound amiable.

"Do I really have to stay here for an hour?"

"Well, if you ever want to get off academic probation," I said without thinking.

Anger flashed through Karofsky's eyes, and I stepped back a little just in case.

"I'm not stupid," Dave said with near-clenched teeth.

"Tutoring isn't about being stupid or smart- it's about getting your grades up," I recited from our "Peer Tutor's Handbook."

Dave retorted with a snort and a blank stare.

I sat down and pulled out my binder to begin. "So, where were we in English when you, uh… left?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Dave asked belligerently.

"Right. Well, you were gone, what, two weeks? We can start with those lessons. But first, is there anything from earlier this year you want to review or work on?"

I received another glare. I think it was the glare somewhere between Karofsky saying "I'll kill you," and him actually doing it.

I tried to keep smiling, but then I noticed his hands. Dave was sitting back, leaning his chair back, one hand hanging between his thighs and the other helping him balance by gripping the table. The hand on the table just seemed massive. All of Karofsky seemed massive. Having been in Gym with him once before, I knew how muscular he was. The other hand wasn't really the focus of my next glance. Rather, Dave had an apparent bulge. His jeans swelled slightly over his crotch. Before I was caught, I looked back to my binder and asked him to get his out.

The session went like most first sessions did. Dave thought I thought he was stupid, I tried to ensure him I didn't. I'll admit, Dave was the first student I'd ever been assigned that I had a hard time focusing with. Usually tutoring was just something I did to help kids and get community service time that would look good on college apps. But after the past few weeks, and thinking about Dave as much as I had, I was a little scared. I was afraid that somehow Karofsky would find out that I had seen him and Kurt. Or that I would somehow let it slip.

Over the next few weeks things got interesting. Kurt left school. Everyone was worried. Not for Kurt's sake—for ours. Kurt had taken the brunt of the jokes and beatings for the last few weeks, and without him at school, Karofsky's wrath widened again. Karofsky threw me in the trash one day. In the halls, I had my phone slapped out of my hand, got pushed by him and Ezimio, and one time found a poster of my face Photoshopped onto a picture of a girl plastered onto my locker. I had to ask the janitor to remove the rubber cement.

**MONDAY**

I entered my tutoring room and waited for Karofsky to show up. I had tried not to let his bullying affect how I tutored him. Then he came in. He had the same glare on his face, and threw his bag on the ground in the normal spot. He sat down and reclined the chair like he did in every session, legs somewhat spread. I noticed a slight hole in the crotch of his jeans, revealing white boxers or boxer briefs. I ripped my eyes away and started going over where we had left off last time.

"Does that sound right?"

"Huh?" Dave asked.

"You know, Karofsky, I can't really help you bring your grades up if you're just gonna sit there and scratch your balls every session. I haven't reported anything so far, but don't make m—."

I shut my mouth as Karofsky leaned forward and clenched his fists. I looked down to his hands and gaped at the meat hammers. "Yeah, you gonna tell on me, firecrotch?"

"Oh, really, you're threatening me?" I asked sarcastically. I didn't really care whether he would beat me up at this point. I realized that I was mad at Dave. Mad that he'd bullied me. Mad that he'd made a joke of my tutoring him. Mad that he hadn't noticed me. Mad that he'd kissed Kurt and not me. Mad that I wanted to hate him but couldn't.

"Don't push me, firecrotch," Dave said.

"Why do you call me firecrotch, Tubby? Is it because you stare at my crotch all the time?" I yelled back.

Karofsky pounded the table and I couldn't help but withdraw a little.

"Or do you just look at Kurt's?" I felt my eyes widen as the words came out of my mouth. I put my hands to my mouth as if trying to recapture the words before they could reach Dave's ears.

Dave stood frozen, red-faced and, thankfully, stunned. Then the door to the room opened and Ms. Pilsbury, the school counselor, popped her head in.

"Is everything all right in here, boys?"

Dave stood silent, shaking slightly as I tried to find words.

"Um, yes, we were just practicing… King Henry"

"Oh, well, convincing job."

I smiled at her, trying to hide my nervousness. Dave turned at that, managing a smile.

Ms. Pilsbury turned and closed the door behind her. I stayed on my feet, ready for Karofsky to lunge at me. All he did was put his binder back in his backpack and leave.


	2. Chapter 2

**WEDNESDAY**

Karofsky wasn't at school the next day, and Wednesday I hoped would be the same. But it wasn't. I approached my locker in the morning to find my face Photoshopped onto a woman's body again. I turned, apprehensive of Karofsky being nearby. He wasn't. I peeled the poster off (thankfully they hadn't used rubber cement this time) and opened my locker. Right when I had opened it, something like a baseball bat hit me in the shoulder. I fell to the ground, back to the lockers, to see Karofsky walking backwards, staring me down.

"See ya after school, queer," he said in a nonchalant voice.

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I was too afraid to.

I skipped English class using a note I had written myself on a TA pass (one of the conveniences of working as a peer tutor).

When it came time to tutor Karofsky, I figured I might as well. At least if he attacked me there it would be closer to people than if he found me on my walk home.

I was getting my binder out when I heard his heavy footsteps coming down the hall. My heart started pounding. I think I could've counted ten heartbeats for every step he took. I sat down, put my binder on the desk and awaited the onslaught.

Karofsky came in and shut the door behind him—I would have to scream louder. He dropped his bag in the doorway—I would have to hurdle over that if I got that far. He pulled out his binder and sat on the other side of the table, then leaned back in his chair and scratched his balls at me.

"Um, so…" I couldn't think of what to say.

Dave glared and scratched his crotch again. "Looks like you're the one who stares at crotches, firecrotch."

I darted my eyes back to my desk. "Well, we were on uh… the use of _who_ and _whom_, right?"

"Shut up."

My mouth dried like a snail in salt.

"How the hell do you know about… about _that_?" Dave asked.

"What do yo—"

"How the HELL do you know?" Dave leaned forward onto the table and let his white-knuckled fists rest on it.

"Iwasinthelockerroom," I sputtered out as quickly as I could.

"Did you tell anyone?" Dave asked, red-faced and tight-jawed.

"NoIswearIdidn't."

"And you know he kissed me?"

"It looked li—"

"Like _he_ kissed _me_?"

"Um… yeah," I got the message.

"Good."

I smiled nervously. My eyes strayed to his crotch again, and I swear I saw a twitch there. I started getting hard at the thought.

"You like that, homo?"

I felt my cheeks redden in nervousness and embarrassment as I dropped my head back to the paper in front of me. I felt so small, sitting there. I wished that I could've been smaller, though. The rest of the session passed by with me rambling like a madman about subjective and objective tenses and subordinate clauses.

**THURSDAY**

The next day, Ms. Pilsbury called me in. She was dusting her desk, though I was pretty sure it hadn't seen a single speck of dust since the day she started her job.

"Ah, Cory, have seat. I wanted to talk to you about mister Karofsky's progress so far."

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure," I replied nervously as I took a seat opposite her.

"So, tell me how the peer-tutoring is going."

I hesitated at her question. I wanted to tell her I didn't feel comfortable tutoring Dave anymore, and I thought of his hands, clenched on the table. "Well, I think the going is slow, and he's… well, not the most enthusiastic, but, we're making progress," I lied.

"Now, Cory, there's no reason to be modest. Dave's test and homework scores are up in English. You got him from a D to a C average in just a few weeks."

I didn't say anything. Karofsky wasn't exactly the show-and-tell type, so I didn't actually know if he was doing better, and since I was in his English class, I never had to get regular homework reports from the teacher. "Well, thank you."

"Are you doing something special with him?"

My face flushed _boy would I ever like t—_, I caught myself before I could finish the thought. "Um, no, nothing in particular."

"Well, whatever you're doing, keep it up. Mr. Karofsky even requested to retain you as his tutor next semester, or at least, his father did."

I stood and smiled, a medicine ball of confusion and anxiety in my stomach. I turned to leave and saw Karofsky down the hall, watching me.

As I plodded my way across the central plaza, I heard quick, heavy footsteps behind me—his footsteps. I quickened my pace and heard him hurry behind me as well. I turned into one of the doors leading to the main hallway and my locker. Hopefully, if he could slam it in my face, he wouldn't do something worse. I got to my locker and turned to see Karofsky's bulk right behind me.

"What was that about?"

"What was what about?"

"You and Pilsbury." Karofsky leaned against the locker, his elbow resting above his head. It made it possible for me to smell the slight musk of his deodorant mingled with his natural musk.

"Oh uh, just, she um…" I stuttered as I also fumbled with the lock on my locker. "Just about a new tutor coming on."

Karofsky grunted as I opened my locker. "Sure." He slammed the door of my locker shut before I could reach in to grab anything. "Later, homo," he said with a wink.

I was glad to have to redo my combo if it meant my face was intact. After that, he actually left me alone for the rest of the day.

When I got home that day, I started shaking. I went and sat on my couch- my parents were out of town and I had the house to myself, so I didn't feel awkward when tears started streaming down my face. When I went to bed that night, I dreamt of letterman jackets, musk, and the twitch in Karofsky's jeans.

**MONDAY**

After gym class I waited the usual extra seven minutes so that the locker room could clear out. I pulled my shirt off and treaded over to my locker. But something stopped me. No, someone.

"'Sup, firecrotch?" Karofsky asked, a slightly inimical grin on his lips and eyes.

I stuttered for words. Nothing but nonsense came out of my mouth.

"Come on, we're gonna be late for English," Dave said challengingly.

I hesitated as I looked at the clock—he was right. But, I didn't want to change in front of Karofsky.

"Uh…" I tried to think of something as I fumbled nervously at my locker.

Karofsky leaned back where he was siting but made no indication of leaving soon.

The lock on my locker clicked and I swung the door open. Hesitantly, I exchanged my sweaty gym shirt for the clean one waiting in my locker. When it came to my pants, I think I turned red enough to make even the ripest of tomatoes jealous. I slipped out of my shoes and let the elastic of my gym shorts slide down my legs into a puddle of polyester at my ankles, revealing my navy trunk underwear. I glimpsed Karofsky out of the corner of my eye—he was still looking at me, and I thought I saw the faintest hint of him biting his lip. My face felt hotter than the sun, and I quickly pulled the legs of my jeans up and fastened the button. I threw my shorts in the locker and closed it behind me. I would be late again. I turned to walk out of the locker room and passed by Karofsky on the way.

"Cory," he called.

I turned nervously, half-expecting to meet a fist. Instead, I felt his hand grab the waist of my jeans right under my belly button. I took a sharp breath in, and looked down to see Dave's thumb grabbing around the button off my jeans. I looked up and saw his mischievous grin as I felt his other hand lift the zipper of my jeans.

"You left you fly down," Karofsky whispered.

I said nothing as he bulldozed through me out into the hallway. I stood, stunned. I was hard and was sure that I was red all over. After a minute of composing myself, I walked out into the empty hallway. He had called me Cory. Call my crazy, but that was what stuck out to me. I think it had been years since I'd heard him address me by my actual name. I felt my face cooling as I rushed to class. The bell rang while I was on the way.

"You're late, mister Webb."

"Sorry."

"Get to your seat."

I shuffled between open backpacks and talking students, then tripped into my seat. I looked back and saw Karofsky's foot receding underneath his desk.

After school I found myself at the tutoring table again. Karofsky was late. He arrived a few minutes later, dropped his bag, and sat back in the chair. I felt my face flush when he looked at me.

"Uh—" I stuttered.

Karofsky rearranged his legs and spread them wide. He was wearing the jeans with the hole in the crotch. It was a bit bigger now.

"—so you requested me as yo—"

"Yeah, so what, queer?"

"Um, nothing… Just, thanks," I thought I saw heat radiating off of my face.

Dave started scratching his crotch. It brought my attention back to the hole there, though I kept my head down. "Who's looking at crotches, now?" Dave asked belligerently.

My heart skipped. He'd noticed. I opened my mouth to try and get something of an excuse out, but no words came.

"I've noticed you staring, Webb." He'd said my name again.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Karofsky stood up suddenly and I winced, expecting an ample helping of "the Fury." Instead, I heard the door open and close. I took it to mean that Dave had cancelled our session, and packed up my stuff to go home early. Then I noticed that Karofsky had left his bag. Normally I would've handed it in to the office for lost and found. But I'd had it with all this—Karofsky ogling me in the locker room, all the bullying, and the names. I'd had it. I would show him where he could shove his hole-in-the-crotch jeans, his stupid too-cute grin, and his stupid kiss with Kurt.

I stormed out of the counseling office with Dave's backpack in hand. I made my way to the nearest bathroom and went into one of the stalls, intent on dumping all his crap down the drain. I lifted the toilet seat and held Karofsky's backpack over the thirsty water. I began to shake but the tears that came out of my eyes weren't sad tears. They were angry tears. Or at least they would be. I could surely stay mad at him this time. My arm was shaking under the weight of the bag and the weight of my decision. I threw down the seat and sat on the toilet, clutching Karofsky's bag to my stomach like a child would a teddy bear. My head sagged as my tears seemed to weigh me down, and the familiar scent of musk and Dave's deodorant wafted into my nostrils. I couldn't do it. I wanted to hate him so badly, but I wasn't strong enough. Karofsky had tortured me, but I knew why. I knew he must be hurting. Or at least I wanted to believe it. I felt something hard against my chest and looked down at Dave's backpack. It had his address in a little see-through pouch.

1568 Leonard Ave.

Lima, OH

It was only a few blocks from school. I decided that maybe it would be best to take it to him. It was my duty as his tutor, to keep him on top of his homework. Surely it didn't matter that I was actually going over there to give him a piece of my mind, not just his backpack.

I arrived at Karofsky's house a short time later. It was your typical Lima house- not too grungy, and not too impressive either. I gave a knock on the door and heard someone coming, so I instinctively squared my shoulders and gave myself a bit of a pep talk. But it was all for not—Mr. Karofsky opened the door instead.

"Oh, hello there, Cory," he said with a surprisingly genuine smile.

I felt my face flush again as all the steam I had built up left me like a puff of well… steam. "Uh… Hi there Mr. Karofsky, I—"

"Please, son, call me Paul," he said amiably.

"Oh, uh, sorry, _Paul_, I just came by t—"

"I'm glad you're here, son, I've been meaning to have you over for dinner for a bit now, would tonight work?"

"Um, well, I," I stuttered for an excuse to the unexpected request.

"Oh, come on now, I have a pizza on the way already, and I know that's the favorite meal of any high school teenager."

My stomach growled as if on cue, and my argument faltered again.

"Ahaha, I see the mouth says no but the body says yes! Now, come on in, you know, Dave hasn't had anyone over for a few weeks."

Deflated, I walked into the house and dropped Dave's backpack on the ground.

"Now, what brings you over?" Paul asked.

"Oh, well, I was just… returning Kar—Dave's backpack. He forgot it after our session."

"DAVE!" Paul yelled down a side hallway.

A muffled call replied, and I thought I heard the sound of a shower or maybe a faucet. Then Dave emerged from one of the doors off the hallway, wearing nothing but a towel.

"What Po—" Dave's sentence stopped as he saw me. I was taking to site in. I'd never seen Karofsky with so few clothes on—I had always waited until the locker room was clear to go in myself.

"Dave, put some clothes on, for goodness' sake! We've got a guest for dinner."

Dave's face flushed, as did his chest, which I saw had a small spattering of dark hair. I felt my own face flush in response as Karofsky tucked his head back inside the bathroom.

"Oh, I'm sorry, if I'm interrupting something, I coul—"

"Oh, please, you're fine, Cory. So, tell me, how do you do it? You know, sense he started tutoring, David has actually come home and _talked_ about English with me? Could you do that for all of his courses?" Paul asked with a smile on his face.

"Afraid it's only English," I smiled back. I felt oddly comfortable with Paul, though, some discomfort was coming from below my waist, the image of Dave in that towel stuck in my head.

"Well, we'll just have to settle for that, then. How was today's session?" Paul asked.

I hesitated. I wanted to tell him that our session consisted of his son forcing me to change in front of him in the locker room. But then, that would make for an awkward conversation over pizza. "Well, we just did some… review today."

"Oh, good. Ah, there he is," Paul said as I sat down on the couch and he in a cushioned chair.

Dave padded out of the back room wearing basketball shorts and a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. He glanced at his backpack in the entry and said, without looking at me, "Thanks."

"The pizza's on its way, it should be here in a bit, Dave, why don't you two hang out around here—I'm going to go see if I can't find some soda in the garage.

Dave nodded, and I looked down as Mr. Karofsky left me to be torn apart. He took the seat where his father had been and starred at me.

"Um, I just came over to return your bag, sorry if this is…" I began.

"..awkward?" Dave finished for me, an aggravated tone in his voice.

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you just leave it at the lost and found?" Dave asked through clenched teeth.

"Why don't you just lay off, Karofsky?" I said, raising my voice a bit.

"You're the one who came over to my place, queer."

"Shut up." I meant to yell it, but it left me as little more than a whisper.

"You better not start crying."

Paul came from the garage with three Cherry Cokes in his hands. I threw my head up and shook away my anger and sadness again. I managed a smile in response to his handing me the Coke. As he looked at me, I thought he'd seen the tears in my eyes, but just then the doorbell rang, and Paul's attention turned to the door.

We sat down around the coffee table in the living room, three pieces of pizza on each of our plates. Paul had made Dave relocated to the couch, so we were sitting next to each other. Dave's gym shorts kept riding up and revealing his muscular thighs. I tried not to stare as I ate.

We ate in mostly silence, but it wasn't all that uncomfortable, or at least, I think Dave and I were both trying to make it appear that way for Mr. Karofsky. After we finished the pizza, I insisted on going home, and Dave helped shuffle me out the door.

I walked home and hat night dreamt of Dave in that towel and all that was underneath it.


	3. Chapter 3

**WEDNESDAY**

As Dave walked into the tutoring room, I felt a tension about him. He sat down as normal, but the look on his face was angry. I wanted to ask him but knew I was more likely to meet the Fury than an honest reply.

"So, I uh, h—"

I stopped as Dave muttered something under his breath.

"Sorry?"

"How do you deal with it?" Dave asked, a tone of defeat in his voice.

"What?" I asked.

Dave looked up, anger across his face.

No, not anger, I recognized. Pain.

"How do you… y'know…" Dave made a gesture with his hands.

I caved to the anger inside of me. I saw Dave injured and pounced like a hyena. "I don't know, how do you deal with being such an enormous dick to everyone?"

Dave's face went from pained to furious in an instant, and he reacted like a wounded animal. Dave threw himself up out of the chair and pounded the table between us with his fists. "Don't push me!"

"Yeah, like you push me every single day, Karofsky? Like you pushed Kurt before he left?" I yelled back.

In a show of rage, Dave grabbed the table's edge and slid it out from between the two of us, off to one side, so my bag and papers went flying. I stood back, knocking my chair over, not knowing what to expect exactly, but expecting the worst. Dave matched me, stepping closer until I could smell the familiar scent of musk and deodorant. "You don't know a single thing about that."

I didn't know what to do. No one was in the office next door, so it would take a bit more yelling through the cement walls to grab any attention. Then I remembered how Karofsky had apparently run from Kurt that day… What had he said in the locker room? "I know you're just a little boy who can't handle how extraordinarily ordinary you are!" I yelled at Karofsky, hoping I'd gotten the gist.

Karofsky froze and the redness of anger in his face paled a bit. Then it redoubled. "You shut your freaking mouth!" Karofsky yelled. His spittle splashed against my cheek as I turned away from him. I tried to push him away, but instead he grabbed my wrists and pinned them on either side of my shoulders and stared straight at my face, huffing with anger.

I stood shaking under his gaze and powerful arms. I tried to struggle for a bit but my greatest efforts caused only slight twitches compared to Karofsky's stranglehold on my wrists. I tried to yell anything that would make him lose his composure—if he was going to hurt me again, I'd go down kicking and screaming this time. "See, always an _ordinary_ little boy—trying to scare me. But you don't scare me anymore Karofsky—you're just scared as I a—"

My air was cut off by something over my mouth. In my tirade I had shut my eyes, and when I opened them, I realized Karofsky was kissing me. _Karofsky… kissing me_. My eyes widened and I felt Karofsky's lips hungry and heavy against mine. Then he pulled back and his grip on my wrists lessened a bit. I looked into Karofsky's eyes and understood, or at least I thought I did. I saw hurt and anger, like I was expecting, but I also saw something else. Karofsky hated himself. He was mad at himself for feeling this way. But then I saw something I wasn't expecting—hope.

Karofsky started to tear up a bit, and it made me refocus. His head sagged down quickly, as if in defeat. When he looked up, the hope wasn't there anymore. Just defeat. His grip on my wrists loosened again and I managed to slide one of my hands out. Then I slid it back up into his hand and entwined our fingers. Karofsky's head went down again and I he whispered. "I'm sorry."

They were the words that I had been waiting to hear for so very long. I didn't know how to react to them. I wanted to still be mad at Karofsky, but seeing the hurt in his eyes… the hatred for himself, the lack of hope… "I… I know," was all I managed to get out. I squeezed his hand in mine.

Dave moved for another kiss, but I turned my head.

"Wait," I said, as Dave fumbled, not having met my lips. "It's going to take a bit more than sorry…" He pulled back and looked at me through foggy eyes.

Dave clenched my one hand and let go of the other completely. "What will it take?"

"Honestly? I don't know, Dave."

Dave pulled his hand out of mine as a look of defeat settled on him. Not just in his face this time—his shoulders sagged, his whole demeanor changed.

"But it's a good start."

Dave looked up slowly, a look of mild disbelief on his face. I grinned a little, and he matched mine. Then I think he realized that he was still somewhat pinning me to the wall, and he recoiled as if I my hand had burned him. "Sorry…"

"It's okay."

Dave backed away and started picking up the papers that had flown off the desk. I swooped down and started to help. "Was it a good kiss?" Dave asked, blushing a little.

"I'd say yeah, but it's not like I have anything to compare it to."

"What? You've never kissed anyone before?"

"Was I that good?" I asked, trying to lure that grin out again.

I got what I was looking for—the corner of Dave's mouth pulled back again and I swear I could've melted right then. "Well… yeah," Dave said, gathering the last of the papers and placing them on the table.

I could only blush in response. Dave grabbed hold of the table and hauled it back into its original position. I gawked slightly at how his arms bulged as he drew it back. "I'm sorry, too, y'know…" I admitted.

"For what? You didn't do anything," Dave answered.

"I pushed you and I was horrible for bringing up… well, for bringing up Kurt…" I whispered.

"Don't apologize, I deserved it."

"No, no one deserves crap like that."

"I do."

I didn't know how to respond to that. I remembered the pain in Dave's eyes before I had started the argument. "No you don't, Dave. You may think you do, but… you don't."

Dave looked at me, and I thought I saw a little bit of the hope I had seen earlier come to the surface again in his eyes. He didn't say anything—he just gathered the rest of his things and packed them in his backpack. "Thanks," came Dave's reply.

I didn't want to push him anymore than I already had, so I tried to focus on putting my things in my bag as well. I felt Karofsky's eyes on me as I zipped up my backpack.

"You can't tell anyone," Dave said solemnly.

"Dangit, I was going to go change my Facebook relationship status and everything," I retorted sarcastically.

Dave stared at me.

"Kidding. I…it's not like I think we can go around holding hands or anything. But, you know, we will need to decide… Where do we want this to go?"

Dave's expression changed again, back to defeated, and I could tell he had no more of an idea than I did.

"Look, I'm not saying right now, but… How about we just agree to talk about it sometime?"

"I guess I could do that," Dave answered shortly.

"Well, then, see you tomorrow?" I asked.

Dave smiled a smile that didn't touch his eyes and turned to leave. I followed in step and closed and locked the door behind me. When I turned back, Karofsky was gone. I figured it might be for the best.

Dave didn't come to school for the rest of the week. I didn't have his cell phone number, so I couldn't call him. I thought about stopping by his house, but I didn't have the courage.

**Friday**

Karofsky still wasn't at school on Friday, and at the end of the day, I decided to walk home instead of taking the bus- it was finally warming up outside and it was one of the first days I didn't have to wear a jacket over my hoodie.

The walk home had proceeded uneventfully until Paul pulled up and grabbed my attention by honking his horn. I snapped my head up, and after I realized who was behind the wheel, I attempted a smile and took out my earbuds, which had been blasting _OneRepublic_. "Hi Mr. Karofsky," I said with a wave.

"Cory, I told you, call me Paul! Where you headed, do you need a ride?" Paul asked.

"Um…" I hesitated, "well, just home, it's not that far."

"Hop on in," Paul insisted with a wave.

I hesitated again, and decided to get in—it was colder than I had thought.

"What are you doing walking home in just a sweater?" Paul asked amiably.

"Just….walking home," I answered, not knowing if Paul had another agenda.

"Well, how're your and Dave's sessions going?"

"Oh, uh, well, fine."

"Are you alright, Cory?"

No I'm not alright your son kissed me and now I haven't seen him for two days. "Ya, just tired," I said.

"Well, it's the weekend, finally get to sleep in, right" Paul said, slapping me on the shoulder.

"Yeah," I said, feeling the heavy weight of his hand on my shoulder reminded me of Dave's hands.

"Well, I have to admit, I have a secret agenda in picking you up," Paul said, replacing his hand to the steering wheel.

"I'm not in trouble am I?" I said. I tried to make it sound like a joke, but it was based more in truth than I let on.

"Oh no, I'm just… worried about Dave. He's been…removed lately. I figured, you being his friend, well, did something happen at school?"

"Um, no, not that I know of," I lied as Paul pulled the truck into my driveway.

"Okay, well, I just wanted to be sure," Paul sounded genuinely concerned, and seemed to get lost in a thought.

"Well, thanks again, Mr. Karofsky," I said, opening the door.

"Paul," Paul said.

"Thanks, Paul," I replied with a façade smile. I shut the door and heard Paul's truck leave my driveway and pull away. As soon as I got inside I heaved my heavy backpack to the ground and went into the living room to warm up by the fire. As I sat down, I felt my pocket vibrate. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and saw a message from an unknown sender.

"Can we talk…" I read aloud, in disbelief. My fingers couldn't tap the buttons fast enough in my attempt to reply. A message came back a few seconds after I had hit _Send_.

"It's Dave," I read aloud again. I texted my reply but wasn't exactly ready for his response—_My house_. I ran to my room and dropped my stuff off, then exited the house and tried not to bulldoze down the street.

As I came to Karofsky's house, I noticed that Mr. Ka-Paul's truck wasn't there. I toed up to the door and knocked lightly a few times. Dave came to the door almost immediately—I could hear his heavy steps even padded by carpet. When he opened the door, Karofsky quickly peered about and then shuffled me in. I almost made a comment about feeling like being in a back-alley drug sale, but as he hurried me, Dave inadvertently put his hand on the small of my back and it sent chills up my spine and into my brain.

"Um, thanks for coming over, were you in the neighborhood or something?" Dave asked. I had still arrived fairly quickly.

"Yeah, kinda," I replied, hoping that he would relate my blushing to being cold rather than embarrassed.

"I uh," Dave started as he lead me into his living room, "I wanted to talk to you."

I stayed silent, not knowing where he was going. As I sat down on the couch, and Dave sat in the recliner, I noticed that he was wearing sweats. As Dave sat, I got a generous view of Dave's nicely restrained package, and could barely pry my eyes away. When I did, it was to take off my hoodie- it seemed like it was about 150 degrees in the house, or maybe it was just me.

"Um, well, look, I just wanted to—" Dave faltered as I placed my hoodie on the couch beside me. "Is that from me?" Dave asked, a mortified look on his face.

I felt my face flush and sought to seek words to explain my… hard predicament without embarrassing myself. Then I noticed that Dave wasn't looking at my crotch—he was looking at my wrists. I quickly crossed my arms, trying to conceal the bruises there—the shadows from Karofsky's hands on Wednesday. I felt horrible and kicked myself for forgetting that they were there. "Dave it's—"

"I'm so sorry," Dave whispered.

"Dave, I, I know," I said back sympathetically. I was expecting his remorse, but as Dave looked up at me I saw the same look of defeat in his eyes as before, though only barely through the tears welling up there.

Dave's voice sounded different as he said, "Dude, I'm so freaking sorry."

"Dave," I said, trying to put some authority in my voice, even as I felt a lump rise in my throat from seeing Karofsky so broken. "Dave, I know you're sorry," I reiterated once he'd wiped the tears from his cheeks and looked me in the eye.

"How can you not hate me?" Dave asked in a whisper.

"Because I forgive you, Dave." I said it though I wasn't sure I wanted to. Truth be told, I still wanted to be mad at Karofsky. But seeing the hatred in his eyes for himself… I couldn't do it.

"I don't deserve it."

I laughed mildly at him, and a confused look crossed Dave's face. "Dave, that's the cool thing about forgiveness," I said, trying to look him in the eyes.

"But, I…"

"Dave, you're just going to have to accept it. Trust me, I used to hate you, but I really can't anymore."

"Why not?"

"Because, I… I see under your mask now. Remember, I… I know it's not easy," I said.

"Uh… thanks," Dave mustered, averting his eyes. As he did so, both of our heads turned as the sound of Paul's truck pulling up filled the silence. "Oh crap, you're not supposed to be here," Dave said, jumping out of the chair.

"Is your dad going to be mad?" I asked, surprised. Dave helped me off of the couch and placed his hand on my lower back again, guiding me towards the hall.

"What do you want me to—"

"Here, just, go in my room and I'll pretend that I'm in the shower…" Dave said. I didn't like how worried he sounded. I would've said something else but Dave pushed me into his room and closed the door. I heard the front door shut and what I assumed to be Paul walking in.

"Dave?" Paul yelled. I heard Paul start to pad down the hall and crouched behind the bed, hoping that if Mr. Karofsky came in, I'd at least hide be out of sight. Then I heard a knock on a door, but not on the bedroom door. Then it hit me, I was in Dave's bedroom. I was quickly knocked out of my realization when I heard the conversation outside in the hallway.

"Dad, don't just walk in on me, I'm getting in the shower!" I heard Dave exasperate.

"Son, where the hell have you been all day? I called you, went to your school, which, by the way, told me that you haven't been in class since Wednesday, and on top of it all, I can't find you until 5 o'clock at night?" Paul yelled. He at least sounded more concerned than angry.

"Sorry, dad, I… I can explain it all," I heard Dave say.

"And it'd better be a pretty damn good explanation. Now get showered and be ready for dinner. I'm making BLT's."

I waited for five minutes after I reminded myself to breathe. Then I let my eyes stray around the room. It was different than I had expected. Dave's room was pretty well kept—his closet was a little messy as I could see things poking out of the sliding door there, but the floor was clean and his dresser was clear with just a few old trophies from his football awards. My eyes caught a pair of Dave's underwear hanging on the edge of his hamper and I felt myself harden at the thought of him in them—they were boxer briefs. I wandered around, and noticed what kind of cologne Dave had out, and as I sniffed the sprayer the familiar scent of Dave wafted into my nostrils and I started to get harder still. I heard what I thought was the door to the bathroom open and then heard Dave's bedroom door open. I snapped my head up and tried to huddle behind the bed again.

"It's alright, it's me," I heard Dave whisper reassuringly.

I sat back up and looked at Dave. He was only in a towel, and I let my eyes wander a bit. They followed the line of his neck down and marveled at his broad shoulders. Dave's arms were on display as well, and my eyes feasted on the slight smatter of hair on his chest.

"Sorry you had to hear that," Dave said apologetically, snapping me out of my ogling. I was completely hard and was glad that my crotch was somewhat obscured by the bed…or at least I hoped it was.

"Don't worry about it," I replied, trying not to let the lump in my throat resound.

I let my eyes wander back up to Dave's stomach, which showed a happy trail that my eyes gladly followed. I looked back up to Dave's face and he blushed a bit before saying "I uh, I better change."

I took that as my cue to turn around as Dave turned to his dresser and pulled out a pair of boxer briefs from one of the drawers. I snuck a peak as Karofsky pulled the towel from around his waist and thought my head would explode. As I turned to feed my lust for Dave, I saw just the slightest glimpse of Dave's own… hard predicament as he stepped into his underwear and I turned as red as a tomato. But that sight could've made the sky blush, I thought to myself. I snapped my head back around, hoping Dave hadn't noticed. "So, um, how should I get out of here?" I said, suddenly remembering my promise to my mother. I heard the phone ring and prayed that it wasn't her calling to check up on me.

"When I leave for dinner I'll distract my dad in the den."

That brought a horrible realization to my mind. "Dave," I said nervously, "I think I left hoodie in your den." As if on cue, the door opened as Paul walked into the room. I shot my head down and tried to think invisible thoughts.

"Da—" I heard Paul say. Then in another voice Paul spoke again. "Dave, what is Cory doing here?"

"He was helping me with homework," Dave said.

"Cory, where's your backpack?" Paul asked, catching us in our lie as I stood up from behind the bed.

"Dad, look, I can explain," Dave interjected.

"No, Dave, I'll, I'll tell him," I said, trying to reassure him. "Mr. Karofsky—Paul, Um, I just came over here because," I showed him my wrists, and I saw a look of horror pass over Dave's face, "because someone beat me up on Thursday, but Dave stepped in and saved me," I tried to get some fake tears going, but they wouldn't quite come. Dave's face changed back to understanding though, when I said "I came here to thank him."

Paul moved closer to inspect the bruises and looked appalled "Dave, is this true?" Paul asked.

"Yeah, dad, sorry I didn't tell you, it's just that," Dave was having a hard time lying to his dad, I could tell.

"I asked him to keep it a secret," I said, cutting Dave off.

"Cory," Paul said, sitting down on Dave's bed, "do your parents know about this?"

"No…" I said, hoping he would tell them.

"You should tell them, I won't, but you should," Paul said, sounding concerned.

"I know, I just, don't want them to worry," I explained.

"Cory, they should know."

"I'm sorry, I've got to go," I said, with real tears now, and grabbed my hoodie from Paul's hands and walked out of the door.

"Cory," I heard both Dave and Paul say, but I didn't turn and exited the house. I ran down the street until my motivation was killed by the cold, and started to walk. Neither Paul nor Dave followed. I was mad at myself for crying, but it was like Paul was telling me everything I didn't want to hear. That I needed to tell my parents. He was talking about getting beat up, but I knew I couldn't because it was Dave that had done it, and it felt more like him telling me that I needed to tell about me… about liking Dave, even though I knew he hadn't been.

I tried to compose myself on the way home, and put a chipper smile on before I entered my house.

"You're late," my mom said as I entered the house.

"Sorry, got caught talking," I explained.

"Well, Paul is a talker" she replied. "Dinner in five."

She never suspected a thing, and I was glad for the weekend.


	4. Chapter 4

**Saturday**

I woke up at 6:45 to a text on my phone from the number that I now recognized as Dave's. I had put it in my phone as "DK." I flipped open my phone and read "pervert…?" aloud, the inflection being my own. Then I suddenly sat bolt upright while simultaneously feeling a deep and hollow pit form in my stomach. I checked the rest of my messages and found that Dave had texted me a few times during the later hours of the night, all of them asking me about why I had left except one that thanked me for the good explanation. I closed my phone and felt it vibrate again—another text from Dave. 'Are u mad at me?' the text read. I texted back 'no,' and got up to take a shower. It was the truth, but I couldn't talk to Dave, especially now that he'd apparently seen my peeping tom tendencies perpetrated upon himself.

After my shower, I received three texts, presumably all from Dave. I didn't want to read them. I wanted to hide away in a corner in my own embarrassment. I heard my parents leave for work as I went downstairs to fix myself breakfast. I brought my phone with me—in case I wanted to call someone or something. As I cooked some eggs and got out bread to toast, my phone vibrated against the counter and I finally decided to at least read the messages. One was from a friend asking about plans for next week, but two were from Dave, asking again and again if I was angry. As I set my phone down it vibrated again, and I vehemently opened my phone. It was from Dave again. This time it read though, 'I'm coming ovr." The pit of embarrassment in my stomach fell through the floor and then I heard a fervent knock resound from my door. I thought I would keel over and die right then. I was still in my underwear and slippers and had only bothered to throw a light blanket on over my shoulders. I tried not to panic as I became a bit lightheaded. I hoped that pretending like I wasn't there would be enough to keep Karofsky at bay. He knocked a few more times and then gave up.

"I can see you, Webb," I heard from much closer than I had expected.

I turned to see Karofsky peering through the kitchen window at me with a perturbed look on his face. I smiled awkwardly as I turned to let him in the front door. He opened it before I got there. Dave stood before me, arms crossed, sweaty, in his sweats and a workout shirt now soaked with sweat around the collar and under the arms. I was glad for the blanket around my shoulders as I shrugged it to try to cover my indecency and any possibilities of a future hard-on. Right now I was currently too astonished and embarrassed at my predicament. Here was Dave, in my house, while I was in underwear, slippers, and a blanket.

"You didn't return any of my texts," Dave said. I could tell he was trying to hide a smile, and I thought I saw his eyes dart to my crotch, but I wasn't sure if it was wishful thinking or not. I felt a twitch down below in response to my thought, and decided to squash that train of thought.

"Wha—" I began, but couldn't continue. All that kept running through my mind was… well, nothing.

Dave snickered a bit and asked "So, you're cooking breakfast? Mind if I join you?"

I stuttered in response and decided to nod. Words finally came to me as I said "I'll go put on some clothes."

Dave smirked as he passed me and I turned to go upstairs to my room. As I reached the top of the stairs I glanced back and again thought I had seen Dave giving me, and more specifically my backside, a bit more notice. He turned quickly, however, and I headed to my room. I threw on some pajama pants and a white V-neck t-shirt before heading back down stairs. I took a second to rearrange myself so that if I did start getting hard it at least wouldn't show.

Dave was sitting on the counter in our kitchen when I went in. The eggs I had cooked were cold, and since Dave was there I decided to throw them out and start anew.

"Can I help?" Dave asked as I cracked six eggs into a bowl to whisk them into omelets.

"You know how to flip an omelet?" I asked.

"Oh, uh, no" Dave said, a little deflated.

I turned to look at him and said "You okay with ham and cheddar in them?" as I indicated the eggs with a nod.

"Yeah," Dave said with a smile. "So, why didn't you answer me?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, avoiding looking at his eyes.

"You know what I mean. I texted you like, six times."

"I said I wasn't mad at you," I replied softly.

"And you really acted like it by ignoring me like a little girl."

"Why do you care anyway?" I said, a little more poisonously than I intended.

Dave stayed silent and looked at me with a bit of what I thought was disappointment on his face. "Thanks again for last night, by the way," he said, changing the subject.

"No problem," I whispered back as I poured the eggs and ham and cheese onto the pan to start the omelets. I couldn't bring myself to look at Dave again.

"But I know you're a pervert," Dave said, a smirk in his voice.

I managed to drop the package of cheese but caught it again before it hit the ground. Dave laughed in response as I turned with I'm sure a look of sheer horror on my face.

"I saw you peeking at my junk last night," Dave accused with a grin that reached his eyes.

Besides keeping myself from melting at the sight of his authentic grin, I managed to mumble something about not knowing what he was talking about. I don't think it was convincing.

"It's okay, I'll consider it payback for uh," Dave suddenly flushed and I could tell that he was embarrassed as well, "for the locker room."

I turned back around and tried to focus on the eggs. "Do you want some milk? Orange juice?" I asked, trying to avoid turning around.

"I'll take some milk," Dave replied.

I poured two glasses and turned to give him one. Dave had stood up and was right behind me, and as I turned I spilled the milk on both of us. "Oh crap," I said, flushing.

"Sorry," Dave said, but there was a weird tone in his voice. He looked at his chest and sweats, both now drenched with milk. I was thoroughly soaked as well. "Do you mind washing this stuff?"

"Uh, no," I said, turning to put the now only half-full glasses of milk on the counter. I placed them there and washed my hands at the sink. "The laundry room's this way," I said, walking down a hallway. We entered together and Dave peeled off his shirt almost immediately. I was caught a little off guard but tried to follow suit, not wanting to seem awkward around Dave. He handed me his dirty shirt and I through both into the washing machine. Then Dave shimmied out of his sweats and I turned around. I was instantly hard, and now had to take my pajama pants off. I got my thumbs under the elastic of my waistband and tried to make it seem like I hadn't almost melted at seeing Dave in his skivvies again. The problem was, I accidently grabbed both my underwear and my pajama pants' waists, so I pulled my underwear down below my before I noticed. I quickly yelped and pulled them back up, then got only the pajamas down. Dave laughed.

"I'll go grab us some stuff," I said, though I wasn't sure I had anythingin Karofsky's size. I was just as tall as him, but I was a buck-fifty where Dave was probably pushing two, with how much muscle he had. He followed me to my room and I flushed as I turned my doorknob. "Sorry if it's a little dirty," I said.

Dave said nothing as we entered. He walked over to my bed and sat on it as I walked over to my closet. I self-consciously fumbled through my door, all too aware that I was bending over in front of Karofsky. Dave apparently hadn't noticed that I could see him in the mirror in my room, so I broke the silence.

"Looks like the kettle was calling the pot black before," I said, trying to mimic the confident and friendly accusatory tone Dave had used before. I saw him whip his eyes away from my rear.

"What?" Dave asked. I wasn't fooled.

"I saw you checking out my butt, just now," I explained to Dave.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dave said, a mocking mimicry of me in his voice.

I turned and threw a shirt at him—an extra-large flannel that I kept about because it was soft and comfortable. I sifted through my shorts drawer and pulled out a pair of athletic shorts that I thought would fit Dave. I in turn got into a second pair of running shorts that I had, but they were only a little longer than my boxers. I suddenly remembered the eggs downstairs and shot out the room. I heard Dave ask after me, but I was worried more about setting off the smoke alarm.

The eggs were a bit browner than normal, but they survived, and I was glad for that. I managed to get the eggs out of the pans and onto plates by the time Dave was downstairs. We sat at the kitchen's bar silently and ate. I had forgotten to put in the salt with all the milk confusion, and both Dave and I reached for the salt shaker at the same time. I took the pepper instead, and we swapped when each was finished.

"Thanks," Dave said. "It's really good."

I realized that in all of the confusion, I hadn't started the washing machine, and that neither of us had drinks anymore. I hopped up and headed down the hall. Dave had started the wash. When I came back out, both of us had fresh glasses of milk. I sat back down.

"See, I can be helpful" Dave said.

"Thanks. So, uh, what do you want to do?" I asked, taking another bite of my omelet.

"I dunno. I just wanted to make sure you weren't mad. Now you're throwing milk on me," Dave said with a flirtatious tone in his voice.

Then I realized, Dave was flirting with me. I staggered a bit at that and fired back "Well, if you hadn't snuck up behind me." The buzzer on the washing machine went off, and I got up to put the load into the dryer. When I came back out Dave had cleared both of our plates and was placing them into the dishwasher. "It should be about half an hour before the clothes dry."

"Alright, thanks," Dave said. "You need help on calculus?"

"What?" I said, allowing my surprise into my voice.

"You're the one person who ruins the curve in English, but you're getting a C in Calculus," Dave said, nodding towards my report card displayed on the fridge.

"Math doesn't make sense," I explained.

"_English_ doesn't make sense," Dave said back. "Come on, let me show you something, it can be like a trade for all the tutoring session," Dave said, turning around and leaning against the edge of kitchen counter. He had only buttoned the bottom few buttons on the flannel shirts I had lent him, so the top gaped open, revealing the smattering of hair on Dave's chest and drawing my attention. Equally distracting was how, when he leaned against the counter, the athletic shorts I'd loaned him rode up and nicely outlined his package for me. I glanced away before Dave noticed and called me a pervert again. He made it too dang easy.

"Okay, if you think you can explain vectors to me, go ahead," I said.

The next half hour was spent with Dave grinning at me and my confusion of vectors. It probably didn't help that every time he grinned at a problem that I got right he practically melted my brain with how happy I was to just be spending time with him and seeing him smile. The dryer's buzzer awoke me from my stupor as we arrived at the last problem.

"I'll go get your things," I said, getting up.

"Thanks," came Dave's reply, as I padded out of the dining room and headed towards the laundry room. I grabbed our clothes out of the dryer and headed back out.

"Here're your things," I said, tossing Dave's sweats and shirt to him.

"Thanks."

"No, thank you—I can't tell you how mad my parents were about that C," I replied.

"Maybe we could do it again."

I couldn't reply. I was too happy that Dave wanted to spend more time together. "Thanks," I managed to squeak out.

"No problem, but, I'd better get going for now. And uh, my dad says sorry if he pushed you," Dave said.

"It wasn't him… I just, Dave, when are we going to talk about us?" I said the thing we both knew was looming over us the whole time since Wednesday.

"I, I don't know, but…soon," Dave said strongly.

"Okay," I said as Dave took of the flannel shirt I had loaned him. He replaced his own shirt and I felt a now familiar pressure in my shorts. Then he nonchalantly took off the shorts I loaned him, and I snuck a peak at his bulge there, and unconsciously bit my lower lip in an attempt to distract myself from what I was seeing. He pulled on his sweats and I walked him to the door.

"See you Monday?" Dave asked as he turned the knob on my front door.

An irresistible smile came to my face, "Yeah."

Dave left and I closed the door behind him. As I was on my way back to the dining room to clean up my sprawled homework, I heard the front door open, and then Dave's voice rang out in the house "PERVERT!" I flushed and ran after the door slammed behind him. When I opened it again, Dave was jogging down the street and grinned back at me.

Monday couldn't come soon enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**Monday**

Monday morning saw more snow than expected, so the school called a snowday due to the roads not being clear.

**Tuesday**

The day had gone by smoothly until gym. Coach Beiste caught me staying out of the locker room and told me that I had better get in before she got another complaint from my English teacher for my being late. I hesitated at first, but Beiste gave me a second glance that might as well have been a poke from a cow prod. As I walked into the locker room, I kept my eyes on the ground and my hands at my sides. I shuffled between boy bodies and crossed my fingers that I wouldn't A) see something I couldn't unsee, and B) see something that… "little Cory" liked too much.

The locker room was packed—two Gym classes and a Weightlifting class all crammed in at once after second period. I tried not to touch anyone or anything, and arrived at my locker. I was so distracted that I had to retry my combination three times before the lock finally opened. By that time, most of the guys had changed and left, but a few of the people from weightlifting class were still in the next row over. I heard Azimio's boisterous voice arguing with another of his friends about NFL teams. I was glad when my row emptied out, and final took off my gym shirt and began to creep into my normal attire.

Azimio crossed the end of my row of lockers and managed to catch me as I pulled my gym shorts to my ankles.

"Damn, boy, I do _not_ want to see that," Azimio said, loud enough to fill the whole room and bring silence to all other conversations. I quickly turned and was caught off balance by my shorts, and was thankful the bench in the center of the aisle caught me. I landed with a hard thump. "So, do you just hate the sun, or are you some kinda vampire wannabe?" Azimio asked.

I flushed and remained silent.

"You better talk to me when I ask you something, firecrotch." Boys were gathering, watching as Azimio drew attention to me. I felt around in my locker and grabbed for my pants. Azimio approached, puffed up and haughty, high on the attention. He slammed my locker door and wrenched the jeans from my hands. I could see the looks on a few of the other guys' faces. They were faces who knew what this felt like, but were just happy it wasn't them. They were faces like mine, if I hadn't been the one at the center of Azimio's tirade. Other faces were amused and feeding off of Azimio.

"Can you give me my pants back?" I asked quietly, refusing to look Azimio in the eye.

"Can I what?"

"Could you give me my jeans back?" I asked again.

"Hell no, these pants are mine now," Azimio stepped closer and I could smell sour sweat barely covered by some juvenile deodorant. I looked up at him, my face hot, and managed to see Dave peek around the corner. He avoided eye contact and began to walk out of the locker room.

"Azimi—" I was cut off by a shoulder check from the large boy. I tripped over my shorts, still at my ankles, and this time landed my butt on the cold tiled floor.

"Shut up, man," Azimio said to me. I saw a few other boys leave, intimidated by Azimio's physicality. I felt red behind my eyes now, and stood up quickly, white knuckles and clenched fists. "Oh, are you mad now, firecrotch?" Azimio asked.

I didn't respond. I hung my head and asked one more time. "Could you just give me my jeans back?" The bell rung. Late again. And pantless.

"Y'know what, sure," Azimio said, mischief clear in his voice. He turned and nonchalantly threw my pants into the shower area of the locker room. Then he sauntered over and punched the shower on. "Next time, stay in your place," Azimio said, exiting with the rest of his entourage. I kicked my gym shorts from my ankles and stalked over to my jeans. Thankfully, only the lower section was wet, but I knew they wouldn't dry. I picked them up and hung them in my locker, then put my gym shorts back on. My face felt wet and I convinced myself that it wasn't tears—that the shower had sprayed my face.

As I sniveled up my tears the water from the shower, I started clenching my fists again. I noticed that I was grinding my teeth. I sat down on the bench and started swearing at Karofsky in my head. He'd seen what Azimio was doing and hadn't done anything. It wasn't like I was expecting him to come to my side and sweep me up and tell Azimio off, but he could've at least called off the guy. I could still hear the guys laughing in the background of the locker room, could still feel their eyes on me, watching me like a gazelle getting picked out of the herd by a lion.

And Dave had seen and ignored it.

The splatter from the shower wouldn't stop rolling down my cheeks, so I skipped the rest of the day. Screw school. Screw Azimio. Screw Dave for not doing anything. Screw myself because when I thought _Screw Dave_ I still managed to get a bit harder. I sat in a little alcove outside where I knew none of the windows from the school could see, and thankfully it was rarely used at this time of year by any of the particularly affectionate couples.

I heard the final bell ring and decided that I had better get home quickly—the school called your home if you had missed class, and I had skipped four. I sat, waiting for the initial influx of students leaving for home to pass, so as not to let absolutely everyone see the redness of my eyes. Then I heard footsteps nearby and tried to make myself as small as possible. It wasn't very effective, being my height and trying to squeeze into a small space. I recognized the heavy footsteps, the deliberateness of each step, and prayed Karofsky would pass me by without noticing.

My luck apparently thought that today was still a holiday like yesterday.

"Hey," I heard Karofsky say in a small voice.

I didn't look up, instead, I brought my knees to my chest and balled up into myself. Thoughts of armadillos filled my mind.

"Look, you can't let Zee get to you," Dave said. I heard the telltale rubbing of his letterman jacket and the slight straining of denim as he squatted near me.

"Go away," I said, trying to sound stronger than I was.

"C'mon, he was just being an idiot," Dave said.

"I'm not mad at Azimio," I explained, burying my face further into my knees.

"Then why are you c—"

"I'm not crying," I said, partially to cut him off and partially to convince myself.

"Then, why are you mad?" Dave asked. I was impressed at how concerned he sounded, but convinced myself also that he was faking it.

I looked up into Dave's beautiful green fungus colored eyes and said "I'm mad at you."

"Why?" Dave asked, taken aback.

"You didn't do anything."

"Dude, you know I couldn't have," Dave defended quickly.

"Why not? Can't you be nice to someone without being involved?" I asked.

"Dude, Azimio knows me best- he would know something's up," Dave said, I thought I heard a slight sadness apathy in his voice.

"So you're just scared," I said. I hadn't been imitating Kurt this time. The words were my own. I don't know if Dave knew it. I heard the shifting of leather and jean and before I looked up, Dave was gone. I was too much of a coward mad at him to follow him or explain myself. I got up, dusted myself off, and headed home to erase the messages that I was sure were waiting for me on my answering machine at home.

**Wednesday**

I had to erase six voicemails on my home answering machine- one for each of my classes. I managed to convince myself that I really was sick and that it was the right thing to stay home. I didn't call in for my tutoring—Dave would have to wait an extra fifteen minutes after school and miss the busses and have to walk home. I felt so incredibly bad fine.

**Thursday**

I drug myself to school on Thursday. I went so I wouldn't have so much time to think. Isn't that what high school is about? Go to school, stop thinking/engaging, and then go home? I was staring into my locker hoping nobody would really talk to me. It worked. But suddenly, a large comet hit my back. I turned to see that the comet had really only been Azimio's shoulder. I turned back, deciding not to play into it and grabbed my French binder. I chanted in my head that French was my last class like it was a mantra. As I closed my locker, another comet hit me. No, two. My French binder went sprawling, vomiting papers like a hung over teen praying to the porcelain gods. I would've too, had a wall of wool and leather not disrupted my flight pattern.

I looked up to see green eyes looking at me in confusion. I clutched onto leather in one hand and a backpack strap in the other.

Dave's letterman jacket.

Dave's backpack strap.

Dave's eyes.

Dave.

Dave's hands were on my shoulders and then he looked up. The hallway had cleared in a circle around us- some students afraid of getting in the way, some making room for Azimio to do something entertaining to my face. And by entertainment I mean bloody.

"Sorry," I manage to squeak out to Dave, who still hasn't said anything. I slide out of his hands and begin to pick up my French homework from the past few weeks. I suddenly see a foot on last week's homework quiz and follow the jeans spilling over it to see Azimio staring confusedly at me. I see a look in his eye like anger, but something else.

Apparently, Dave saw it too. He suddenly steps alongside Azimio and, in as friendly of a manner as possible, pushes Azimio away from me. He managed to make it look like one fluid, friendly motion.

As both boys walk away, Dave's arm amiably slung over Azimio's shoulders, I hear Azimio ask Dave why he caught me. Then I hear whispers spreading about how Karofsky had caught me. I shove them to the back of my mind. He caught me accidently ran into me. I saw confusion of wanting to do the right thing and not wanting to get found out to be my friend. I wasn't mad at him. I felt bad for him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Friday**

I decided to go to school again. It was somewhat weird, having everybody see Dave catch me. I don't think people were really talking, but somehow, school seemed… different. I figured it might be a lack of sleep, so after school I headed to the Lima Bean for a nice caramel mocha. As I was sitting down with my nose in my latest Brent Weeks novel, I noticed a letterman jacket walk in. To my delight dismay, the one under the letterman was Karofsky. As he pulled open the door, I saw a look of recognition in his eyes as he scanned the little café. I tried to sink into my book, but he hadn't seen me—I saw his eyes settle on Santana Lopez, from the Cheerios Glee Club. I tried not stare, or care, but I couldn't help myself.

I couldn't hear what they were saying, and wanted to move closer, but couldn't, afraid that I'd be made once I got too close. My red hair kind of makes me stick out in a crowd. I sat, watching from afar (call me a stalker if you must). But about halfway through their conversation, Dave's demeanor changed. He went from his false cockiness to tense and upset in the span of a sentence. I swear, if I didn't know better, Santana had said something about Dave being gay. Fat chance of that. Heck, I wasn't even sure of that with how he had been acting lately. I noticed the conversation coming to an end and slipped out one of the side doors so as not to be noticed.

**Monday**

On Monday, I got a notice at the counseling desk that my appointment with Dave had been cancelled. It was signed by Mr. Figgins, our principal. I figured Dave had done something stupid to someone and was somewhat glad to avoid the awkwardness that I was sure would come with a tutoring session.

As I was leaving, I passed by Mr. Figgins' office on the way out. I glanced in to see Dave, Paul, and Kurt Hummel and his father in in the office along with principal Figgins and Mr. Shuester. My heart dove to my stomach and went for a swim. I had no idea what was going on, but I made a B-line for the doors as soon as the adults got up to leave the office. I bumped into Finn Hudson on the way out but he didn't even notice—he was clearly focused on heading to the office as well.

I went home and contemplated how many classes I could miss before the school really tried to contact my parents for absences.

**Tuesday**

I braved going to school on Tuesday. I wished I hadn't—at lunch, Kurt was welcomed back by the Glee Club and some preppy looking schoolboys who I assumed were from Dalton Academy, where Kurt had transferred to, and was now returning from.

Even weirder than the red-piped blazers of the Dalton boys, I saw Dave wearing some weird, shiny red jacket and a beret. He looked unhappy as he rounded the corner, and I saw a look of what I hoped was astonishment as he saw me. He quickly resettled himself, and a bit further down the hall, he met with a matching Satan Santana, and I noticed that the pair's jackets both said "Bullywhips" on the back of them. I raised my eyebrow but tried to push all thoughts of Karofsky out of my head. On my way out of school, I saw Quinn Fabray putting up a poster for Prom, and immediately it hit me. I didn't have anyone to go to Prom with. I wanted to go with Dave I figured it wouldn't be that big of a deal to miss it. The most excitement usually came when someone spiked the punch anyway.

**Wednesday**

After school, I received another notice from the office that my tutoring with Karofsky had been cancelled by Figgins. On the _Reason_ line, it simply said 'Bullywhips duty' in Principal Figgins' messy writing. I dropped by my Calculus classroom and looked for our posted grades. Scanning for my student number, I ran my finger across to look at how I had done on my last exam. I was happy when I saw a 'B' instead of my usual 'C' or 'D,' until I realized that the only reason I had done well was because of Karofsky's help.

As I exited, I saw Karofsky with Santana, but something was different. Then it hit me. Karofsky and Santana were holding hands, walking in their matching red jackets and their stupid berets. I tried not to wobble as the realization hit me that Dave and Santana were dating. Dating.

I went home and avoided my Calculus homework like it was a viper.


	7. Chapter 7

**Monday**

Prom really is just a desperate scene. I decided not to go. I mean, it's in the gym. Nothing enjoyable comes out of being in the gym. Sore muscles, bruised egos, and jocks. I really want to go Prom is for losers. That's why I'm not going. It isn't because I can't find a date. It isn't because I think I'd hyperventilate when I see Karofsky in a tux. It's because prom I hate prom.

Just thought I'd clear that up.

I didn't receive a note about tutoring being cancelled. I swear I was visibly trembling as I stepped into my little tutoring nook to await Dave's arrival. I began unpacking my things, trying to take my mind off the inevitable. It worked. For the thirty or so seconds it took to take the binder and book out of my bag. The heavy thud of my textbook plants an idea in my mind, as well as the first short story we're to review in our little session today.

I begin to build a brick wall. I can be stubborn at times. I'm really quite good at it. So my brick wall is well-built. It is built of denial reality and hurt feelings pain. I layer brick upon brick of all the feelings I have. Of feeling let down by Karofsky, of wanting unwanting. I slurry it with heavy feelings I'll admit I don't quite understand. But in the end, I have built a wall. It is beautiful. It is my defense. It is my offense. It is my fear strength.

As I glance towards the top of my beautiful wall, I hear the tell-tale deliberation in Karofsky's footsteps. He enters the room and, just inside the door, hesitates. The wall turns from brick to bedrock, and I am invincible.

"So, did you read the shortstory?"

"Look, Cory, I… we need to talk."

"Yeah, about the shortstory, I know. Did you read the assignment or do we need to review it?"

"No, you know what I-"

"Personally, I think the best way you could analyze it is from a standpoint of-"

"Is that how it's going to be?"

_Yes, yes it is._ "What do you mean?" I ask.

"Fine."

Bedrock-brickwall:1. Karofksy: 0. Webb: worst person ever.

The rest of our tutoring session went…predictably. Not well. But hey, told ya I could be stubborn. On my way out of my session with Dave, I hear a slight whisper of my name from behind me. It's Alicia. From third Period Chem last year. Third row from the door, fourth seat back. Terrible cheater but a cute girl.

"Sorry?" I ask.

"Oh, well, my date backed out at the last minute, so I was wondering…. Well, I haven't seen you with anyone… Are you free for prom?"

I might be stubborn with some things. Heck, I might like guys. But something deep inside me still seeks to protect women. Not in some weird sexist you-need-protection-go-make-me-a-sandwich sort of way. Just… leave me alone, okay?

"Uh… well, yeah," I reply.

"Well then… do you want to go with me?" Alicia asked somewhat timidly.

"I uh… I'd be honored."

"Great. Thanks, Cory, you've always been cool."

_Feel like telling everyone else that?_

The modern cost of an act of chivalry:

$125 for a rented tux in tall sizes

$75 for matching-boutonniere and corsage combo

$90 for a pair of new dress shoes

And one week of free slave labor to my father so I could take his Audi TT instead of going in on a rented limo for another $75.

Going to prom with a date that I barely know because I kind of want to see Dave in a tux I can't turn a lady down: where was my brick wall on that one?


	8. Chapter 8

**Wednesday**

Dave and Santana continued their anti-bully Bullywhips. I hoped I wasn't the only one noticing the irony that Santana and Dave were now anti-bullies… And wearing matching outfits. Playing for the other team if you will. I was trying not to think of Dave. Dave in a tux. Dave on a poster. With Santana.

And then I saw him down the hall. With Kurt. Escorting Kurt. My heart sunk, and my lungs forgot about that thing called breathing. The bell rang for third period, and as part of the Bullywhips, Dave escorted Kurt to his third period class. Right around the corner from English. I hoped that the sweat I thought I noticed on his brow was from just leaving Weightlifting class, not from being nervous around Kurt. As the halls cleared, I went to my locker. English could wait. I opened my locker and managed to look busy. It's harder than many people think- listening around a corner to a whispered conversation while you try to act like you're actually supposed to be at your locker.

"…miserable you are, Dave. I could just hate you," I heard Kurt say. My shuffling around of papers kept me from hearing the rest of what he said. I didn't hear Dave at all, but was that… sniffling?

"…come out tomorrow…" the sounds of the hall shifted and I couldn't make out anything else again. The bell rang.

"What's wrong?" I heard Kurt ask. Oh dang, that _was_ Dave sniffling?

I couldn't do it anymore. I heard Dave apologizing, and closed my locker as quietly as could. What was Dave apologizing for? Bullying Kurt? Kissing him? Was there something else I didn't know about? As the questions filled my head, I resolved to go to class so I could stop thinking.

**Saturday**

I sat on my bed staring up at the tux I had picked to match my date's dress. It stared back, daring me to put it on. I had my cellphone in my hand, a text already typed to Alicia apologizing and giving the excuse of food poisoning. But I couldn't press send. My heart had dropped somewhere between the florist and my house, and now my stomach felt like every butterfly in existence was trapped in it. I took off my sweatpants, my undershirt, my underwear, and stood in front of my mirror for a while. I don't know why. I hated looking at myself in the mirror. Too pale for anyone to like. Too skinny to feel like a real guy's guy… I shook myself out of it, wrapped a towel around my waist, and headed for my bathroom.

The steam didn't help get Dave out of my head. I slowly turned the water colder so nothing… unexpected popped up. I kept imagining Dave in my house as I had last seen him there. Pulling on his clothes, embarrassed but also confident- he was just… I turned the hot water off completely. As I slothed out of my miserable shower, I wrapped the towel around my waist again and crept back into my room. The tux was still there, and I still had to put it on. I toweled off, then sprayed some cologne on, figuring I needed to be halfway decent for my date. I slipped into the tux with the practiced ease that came from being the son of two parents who loved to go to formal events and bring there little trophy all dressed up too.

As soon as the entry photo for the night was taken, Alicia disappeared.

I should have figured as much. So there I was, alone at prom. You can't blame me. I couldn't help it. It wasn't my fault. Dave looked so good in his tux. Never mind that A) he couldn't really dance all that well and B) he was dancing with Santana. It was the first time in a few weeks that I had seen Dave look like he was having fun. I didn't want to spoil it. As the Glee club put on a horrendous cover of Rebecca Black's _Friday_, I couldn't help but retort that I most certainly _wasn't _looking forward to the weekend. As I wove through the crowd to wallflower by the mediocre refreshments, I noted Brittany Pierce riding a surprised looking Mike Chan. Poor Tina. I thought that was her name… Then I noticed that Kurt had just walked in. With his date.

It was the first time I had ever really seen him. Blaine, I think his name was. Shorter than I had thought. As _Friday_ came to a close, the crowd cheered. I raised a hand more to the end of the song than the quality. I lingered near the punch until I was sure Puckerman hadn't spiked it. Then some Glee club kid tried to and got caught by Silvester. I made a B-line to the other side of the gym. When I realized that that was where the _rest_ of the wallflowers were, I decided to wade back over to the refreshments to at least look like I was trying to do something. On my way over Alicia bumped into me, too drunk to notice. Apparently, though I knew no one had spiked the punch, Alicia was sad because the boy that she had ditched me to spend prom with actually had a girlfriend already. Ouch.

A little while later, my high schooler's "oh-shit-there's-something-going-down" radar went off. It was pretty obvious. The quarterback…Finn? Shark? Something to do with sealife… anyways, he had started something with another remarkably short boy. Jesse? I vaguely remembered seeing him sometime around last year… Anyways. Shit went down, and Quinn Fabray's prom queen dreams went down the hall to Sue Silvester's office.

Then Prom happened again. I decided to go to the bathroom. Or my locker. Anyplace away from the rest of my peers and the staff that oversaw them like zoo animals. Actually, after tonight, I couldn't blame the teachers for that. As I slid out of the gym, the prom court was being called up. I didn't want to see Santana win Queen, and I did want to see the lie that would accompany it.

I let the cold water sluice off my face as I tried to clear my head. The rest of the bathroom emptied out as I let the faucet splash cold water over my hands in an attempt to cool myself down from the fog of body odor, cheap cologne, and the sweat cloud of teen bodies writhing on each other that was currently the prom. I decided to take a breather and slapped the lock closed on one of the numerous stalls in the bathroom. The pulse from the music died in the background and I was left in silence broken only by my breathing. They would announce queen first. Quinn or Satan Santana. Then king. Puck or Dave. But I didn't care.

Then I noticed something. I was still in silence. I had never been to a prom, but I expected at least an ovation or cheers to ring out from down the hall as the king and queen had their dance or were elected. But I didn't care. But then, my silence was broken by the wall of the bathroom coming down. Okay, maybe it was only the door being slammed open, but it was too stark a contrast. Probably some king-hopeful who'd had his dreams dashed being dramatic. Oh, highschool.

Then the faintest rumor of a sob found my ears and ninja'd its way into my brain. I recognized that low, I-don't-want-to-cry intake of breath. It was the same one I'd heard a few days ago in the hall. It was Dave. But I didn't care. I didn't care I didn't care I didn't care. Another soft, shuddering sob met my ears and I peered through the slit between the door and wall of my silent little asylum, and saw the bulk of Dave huddled over a sink. Then, the sound of the hall faded into the bathroom.

"Get the fuck out!" Dave yelled, with enough anger that his tears didn't come through.

I heard a nervous laugh and then the door sealed me in with him again. I was at a loss. I sucked in a breath and immediately after realized it was a mistake. Dave suddenly hauled around and barreled toward my stall. His face was red and his eyes were swollen with tears that betrayed him.

Really, the lock had no chance. I'd seen Karofsky lifting weights, and with how much he could bench, he probably could've ripped a locker off its hinges, let alone some flimsy, two-screw toilet stall lock.

Dave's fist reeled back as he prepared to strike. I closed my eyes as I prepared to have my jaw splintered like glass. The crunch made me flinch and hit the other side of the stall, my ribs against the toilet paper dispenser. But Dave hadn't hit me. I opened my eyes to see a blood smear in a fresh crater the size of his fist on the other stall wall. Dave looked at me with a concoction of rage, sadness, and stunned confusion in his eyes. I responded with a sigh and let my still-intact jaw drop. Dave crumpled onto me and I felt my ribs crunch further into the toilet paper dispenser.

But something mitigated the feel of plastic digging into my side. Dave's arms. They were…_around _me. Around my neck. Dave knelt into my hunched-over form, a slight wracking in his body shuddering mine as he burrowed his face into my shoulder.

I went dizzy. Dave. Crying. Into my shoulder. The smell of him overwhelmed me. He was musky- nervous. His hair brushed against my chin and released the smell of some masculine hair gel. I wanted to get lost in him. But then he wretched again and pulled me into reality. I was still stunned. I struggled to reach an arm around Dave's back in my awkward position between him, the wall, and the damned toilet paper dispenser. I felt him tense at my returned touch, and he pulled himself away quickly.

I breathed out as my spine popped back into alignment. Dave turned away and I saw him wipe his face. I reached for his shoulder but retracted my hand at the last moment, unsure of what I could say. I watched him in the mirrors on the wall. He had a warpaint of blood on his face from where he'd wiped his freshly torn knuckles across his face. The faucet turned on underneath him as he splashed cold water onto himself, then leaned his forehead against the mirror. I watched as blood slowly beaded and descended down his knuckles and snaked through his fingers, then jumped to the floor. I wanted to he

lp him leave. I made it as far as the towel dispenser, then doubled back, a wad of paper towels in my hand.

I tried not to touch Dave. I knelt down and dabbed at his distended knuckles. I saw his hand clench, and he turned quickly to look at me, expecting to meet me at eye-height, then slowly watched as I tended to his hand.

"I'll be fine," Dave said, straightening himself up.

"And I want to help get you there," I replied, not looking up from his bloodied knuckles.

Dave took his hand away and slid down to the floor, splaying his legs out and letting his head rest against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. I took his hand again and watched as more blood pooled for me to confiscate with the stark white of the paper towels.

"You want to get out of here?" I probed.

Dave considered me, reservation evident in his eyes.

"I'm good at escaping unseen," I said with sarcastic confidence in my voice.

I felt his assent rather than heard it. His body relaxed, then he hauled himself up. I arose to meet him and we walked over to the door. He went out first, and the noise of the music from down the hall assaulted my ears as I followed him.

I had expected to be met with a crowd of laughing teenagers with nothing better to do than watch a man defeated. But instead, I was met with the sight of Coach Beiste shuffling students down the hall in the other direction. Looking out for her player- I made a note to regard her with more respect than the other staff members. Dave had turned down the hall toward the weight room, and I followed a few footsteps behind. He slid into the guys' locker room, then emerged a minute late, a WMHS football bag slung over his shoulder. He regarded me with a silent look.

"Got a ride?" I asked.

"I can walk home."

"Dave, c'mon, let me take you."

"You've got a date," he retorted.

"Yeah, who has another date. I'd act the gentleman if I thought she had a shred of ladylikeness in her, but, well, that doesn't seem to be the case."

A whisper of a grin was Dave's reply, and I took the opportunity to lead the way to my car.

"You didn't ask what happened," Dave said, breaking the silence of our ride to my house. Not that he knew I was heading to my house.

"You didn't offer," I responded, trying not to let my curiosity show.

"Thanks," Dave said, still dabbing the now-saturated paper to his knuckles.

"I don't think that's helping anymore," I said, nodding towards his hand.

"Hurts."

"I've got an icepack at home," I offered, hoping he wouldn't notice.

"Wait, just, I don't know, drop me off somewhere."

I shook my head, "Not happening." Dave didn't reply, so I added, "Don't worry, my parents are on some business trip, won't be back till Monday."

As I pulled into my garage, I noticed Dave tense. I notice myself tense. We emerged from the car, silent as ever, and proceeded into my house. I had forgotten to leave any of the lights on, so the house was dark. I heard Dave collide with a wall and stifled a laugh besides myself. I headed to the kitchen and turned on a light.

"I'll go get our first aid kit," I told Dave.

"I don't need-" I heard Dave start to say, but I wasn't going to hear it.

I came back to find Dave sitting, hunched in on himself, on my kitchen counter. I set the kit down and opened it. The first thing out was an alcohol pad, then a packaged sterile bandage that was barely big enough to cover the length of his knuckles, and lastly, gauze wrap.

"Seriously, I don't need all that," Dave protested.

I didn't reply; just got to work. "Oh c'mon, big football player," I goaded Dave as I saw him twinge at the touch of the alcohol pad.

"Shut up," Dave replied, an embarrassed grin on his face.

I obliged as I attempted to cover his raw knuckles with the bandage I had unwrapped. I felt the calluses of Dave's large hands, earned over years of manual work and football. Dave spread his fingers as I reached for the gauze, and I let my hands see and feel his a little before I started wrapping the bandage to his hand. Dave looked up at me as I wrapped, and I let my eyes stray to his face. For just a moment, we trapped each other in a look, then both looked away. His scent still whispered to me, calling me closer to him, and I wanted and didn't want to heed it at the same time. I felt a charge between us and stepped away. Then I noticed that Dave wasn't just looking down- a tear fell from his face and then hit the counter. Dave looked up.

"They voted me for king," Dave said between heavy breaths.

"Dave, that…"

"With _Kurt_ as the queen."

"Oh." I was stunned. Nothing else came to mind, and I couldn't exactly process what he had just said.

"The whole school. The whole _freaking_ school voted to call me gay."

I sat in my own filthy silence, not knowing how to respond.

Dave sat, searching my eyes, for anything.

"I…Dave, I don't know what to say. It's just…highschoolers being highschoolers."

"No, it's… It's me."

"Dave. That isn't you."

"I freaking _kissed_ Hummel, and apparently the whole school knows," Dave said, defeated. His huge hands hung limp, palm up in his lap. He seemed so small, sitting there in my kitchen.

"Dave," I said, letting my hand stray to his shoulder, "Dave, that _isn't_ you. Yeah, they're all freaking dicks, and the idiots all deserve a swift kick to the junk, but _I_ know that isn't you."

"What do you mean?" Dave looked up at me, confusion and maybe a slight bit of hope in his eyes.

"Dave, you can't let that define you. You can't let _them_ define you. You're bigger than that. You're _better_ than that."

"This is high school- I'm a big fish in a small pond. You and Kurt were right- I'm just… scared."

"Dave," I said sternly, now taking both of his shoulders in my hands, "you are not your sexuality. You're not… who you are in high school. You're not…what other people say about you. You're _you_. Just you. They can't change who you are- you can let them, but you shouldn't. Only _you_ can change who you are."

"Okay, Doctor Phil," Dave said, trying to laugh me off.

"No. No, Dave. I'm not shrinking you. I'm just telling you the truth. And the truth, the _truth_, Dave, is that you are scared. But we all are. You were just more vulnerable tonight. But _they_," I waved my hands in the general direction of the school, "_they_ are still scared, because they know you're more than that. They are still scared of you."

"What?" Dave said, still trying to seem nonchalant.

"Dave. I know you're a better person than you think you are."

"I-"

"Dave," I cut him off, "I _know_ you're a better person than you think you are."

Dave sat, silent, for a long moment.

I tried to let my words sink in. I could see, whenever he let me look in his eyes, the war inside of him. His self-loathing. His guilt. His unassuredness. His fear. His wanting to believe what I had said. His knowing that what I said was true, but not wanting it to be so.

"I- can I change? These shoes are tight." Dave said, changing the subject. I knew not to push.

"There's a bathroom in my room upstairs," I reminded him. He slid off the counter, close enough to me that I could still smell him, stepped out of his dress shoes, and padded upstairs towards my room.

I waited for Dave to get out of the shower as I slipped precisely back out of my tux and into some basketball shorts and a t-shirt. Steam wafted out of the door that Dave had left ajar. I saw the various pieces of his tux strewn about my floor- he had undressed on his way to the bathroom, and I saw the edge of his gym bag spying out from just inside the bathroom door. I gathered his things and was immediately impacted by his scent once more, full-force. The sourness of his body odor danced under the sweet trace of his deodorant, hidden under weightier cologne. The clothes crumpled in a corner of my room, away from me so they couldn't ensnare me in their grip. I heard the shower squeal off and froze. I didn't want Dave thinking I was creeping. The door to the shower clipped open and I heard Dave fumbling around for a towel.

But there wouldn't be one. I had put my towels in the washing machine.

"Shit," I heard Dave say under his breath.

I hurried out to the linen closet across the hall from my room and retrieved a towel for him, then turned back and grabbed an extra one for myself.

"Hey uh, Cory!" Dave yelled. At least I knew he didn't suspect me of snooping.

I walked into my room and thrust the towel and just my arm through the threshold of my bathroom. "Sorry, I put my towels in the wash," I explained.

"Oh, thanks," Dave said. His hand grazed mine as he grasped the towel.

"Uh, no problem," I shook my head to get the fuzzy feeling any thought of a naked Dave put into my head. I didn't know what to do from there-didn't know what to say. "You didn't use all the hot water, did you?" I smalltalked.

I heard a grunt of a laugh emerge from Dave and couldn't help but imagine the grin on his face as he said "Don't think so."

"Good, cause, uh, I've gotta get in there, too," I said.

"I'm decent," Dave said, the same grin evident in his voice.

I steeled myself and tried to put on a brave face as I entered my own bathroom. No amount of steeling could have prepared me for the sight of Dave shirtless, wearing only some gym shorts, and I felt blood simultaneously rush to my head and between my legs. My cheeks flushed and my whole…_everything_ faltered as Dave turned towards me. A look of recognition changed his face from curious to mischievous, and with the passion of a thousand suns I cursed my loins for betraying me. I hurled my hands toward my crotch and scuttled towards the shower so I didn't have to look Karofsky in the face.

I hesitated as it became time for me to disrobe in front of Karofsky again. I knelt down and shucked my shorts off. Well, I meant to. And I would've. Had my head not have collided with the glass of my shower door. A resounding ring met my ears as pain blossomed in my forehead. _Smooth_ I thought to myself. Dave cracked up behind me but didn't say a thing. I turned and stared daggers at him as he slid a black tank top over his head, oblivious to me. I turned back and removed my shirt, stepping into the shower. The blur of the glass shielded me from Karofsky, and I saw him as a block of black over a blob of McKinley red. I turned the shower on, cold, to calm my swelling limb down and punish myself. Then I turned the hot water on and tried to wash prom off.

The sight of Karofsky kneeling on my floor, browsing my videogame collection, met me as I emerged from the shower. The bandage I had outfitted was limp and damp on his hand.

"Oh, sorry, guess I should've let you shower first," I said.

Dave turned to me, then at the bandage and said, "It's okay, I've had worse," as he tugged at my gauze job to take it off. The skin underneath was still raw and red, but he wasn't bleeding any longer. Then Dave stood, a videogame in his hand. "You don't have a lot of two-player games."

"Well, most people don't want to play with me," I said, matter-of-factly.

"I do."

I tried not to go down the road that my mind and dick wanted to lead me down, and grabbed two controllers out of my drawer while Dave popped in a racing game. He sat down crossed-legged on the floor and looked at me expectantly. I turned the TV on and tried to ignore that fact that I was touching Dave's bare arm with mine.

It should've been simple enough. While other kids were at afterparties, getting drunk or high or pregnant or all three, Dave and I were playing videogames on my floor at home. About a half an hour past midnight, Dave was enraptured in Forza3, and began to lean with the turns, leaning into me. Soon after, I joined him, intoxicated in seeing him have fun and wanting him to feel good and wanting to feel good myself. Dave was better than me. On almost every race, he bested me, and I wanted him to.

And then I won one by a lap or two. Okay, two, if I do say so myself. Dave was aghast and pushed me with the force to put me on my side, laughing at my victory.

"That's ridiculous!" Dave said, pleasant dissent in his voice.

I rolled onto my back, taken in a giggle-fit, and raised a triumphant fist as I declared myself, "Champion!"

Dave leaned onto his elbow over me and poked my side, "That was luck, I want another race." I felt the tickle of his brash finger mix with pain in my side and instinctively moved away, continuing to giggle like an idiot.

I held my hand in the air and chanted "Champion, champion," rubbing in my victory. Dave responded by leaning over further and grabbing my waist with both hands. I squirmed at his touch, writhing under his assertive grasp of my most ticklish area. "Oh, stop, stop," I begged Dave. He continued, laughing, a mischief in his laugh and grin. I noticed then that he was touching me, and immediately got hard. "Dave, stop," I said, seriously.

Dave looked at me inquisitively, confusion evident in his demeanor. He looked at me, straight in the eyes, and something clicked. His grasp on either side my waist loosened to something gentle and exploratory, rather than mischievous and harsh. I tensed even as he relaxed, unsure of myself. Dave leaned in closer, a look of… of bravery on his face. I felt his hand slide up my side, riding my shirt up as _Oh_. I felt something inside myself turn inside out. My raised hands collapsed as Dave's hands rose to my shoulders. He pulled his mouth away and I gasped, stunned and happy and wanting, then he snaked a hand underneath my back and pulled me to meet him again.

A smile spread my lips as our mouths continued to collide and explore. Dave swung a leg over me and feathered me back down to the floor as his hands meandered up my arms and closed on my wrists at either side of my head. Then he pulled back again, and I saw him searching for something to say.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"I can't be that good," I grinned, surprised at my own guile.

Dave swung his leg back over and released my wrists. I sat up to meet his eyes. "I mean…I mean for what you said earlier. Thank you."

"Dave-"

"I mean it. Because even though I don't see it, you like…. You told me it's there."

I struggled to find a reply, but then I could see that I didn't need say anything besides "It is."

Dave grinned and looked down at my hand, holding me up from the floor. I saw his eyes run over me, and suddenly looked away. "Why do you do that?" Dave inquired.

"Do what?" I asked.

"You always… you're nervous," he explained.

"Can you blame me?"

"I- I'm not going to beat you up."

"I'm not nervous about _that_" I said.

"Then… then why?"

"I just… I've uh… well."

"You don't want to?"

_Oh I want to_ "It's not that. I'm just… I'm not sure about myself."

"Why not?"

I turned away and reached to pull myself onto my bed. Dave grabbed my elbow and held it with an assertive but gentle grasp.

"Cory, why… Is it because I'm fat?"

I turned to Dave, confused. "Dave, you're not fat."

"I'm pretty fat," Dave said in a tone with sincere conviction. He released my elbow and turned away. "I get it."

"Dave… Dave, you're," and then, I said it. "You're _hot_."

Karofsky's back stiffened at the words, as if they had electrocuted him. He grunted a laugh.

"I mean it, Dave," and I did. I reached a hand out toward his shoulder and felt the warmth of his skin, the taught muscles of a defensive end, and then sat up on my bed, inclining him towards me. He turned, in reaction, and I decided to make myself known to him. As Dave stood backlit by the television, I let my defenses fall and took off my shirt. A simple look of recognition and enthusiasm relaxed over Dave's face, and he stepped closer to me. I felt heat rise in my cheeks and chest and searched Dave's eyes for acceptance. I found it.

Dave stepped toward me and reached for the hem of his tank top. He pulled it over his head and tossed it onto the foot of the bed. I pushed back further onto my comforter and then felt the electricity of him as he hovered over me, his hands supporting him on either side of my waist. He placed a knee between my legs and wrapped his arms underneath my back, easily lifting me and repositioning my head on my pillow. Then I felt him relax onto me. His weight was hefty on top of me, but gentle and restrained. I pained at the thought of his thinking he was fat. I folded into the substantiality that he was, reveled in it. Our mouths met and then he moved into mine with his tongue- tasting, exploring. Suddenly, he shifted and the chill of my room met my skin. He tried to continue, and I tried to guide him back on top of me.

"I don't want to crush you," Dave said, and I could tell he was embarrassed.

"Dave, you won't- I want you to…" I said, trying to direct him back to me. He shifted back in agreement, and I wanted to melt into him. I felt myself harden as we continued, and hoped Dave wouldn't mind. He straddled over me at first, on top of me but not confident yet. I felt the pressure of his arms pushing himself up on the mattress next to my head, and reached around his lower back to pull him down.

Dave lips parted in a surprised gasp as I felt his hard member brush against my navel while mine simultaneously pressured his thigh. I caught him off guard enough that he collapsed a little more on to me and then I felt him relax into it. His mouth was delicious, as much as his body against mine was. A slow rhythm worked its way into our entwined bodies, and we pushed and pulled, gave and took like waves on a beach.

Dave leaned his forehead against mine, and we both gasped and panted. "This is…"

"…great," I finished.

"You're…great," Dave added, and attacked my mouth again. I let my hands explore the folds and valleys of his muscular back. Soft, clean skin warmed my hands and I felt the muscles of his shoulders as he started exploring my chest and stomach with his own hands. He wound his hand over my hip, then to my navel, sometimes softer, sometimes somewhat probing. The discovering hand ran gentling to my sternum and applied the smallest of pressures, and I could feel my heart beat into his palm. He slid his hand up to my neck and chin, always gentle, and turned my head to break our kiss, then he began to explore me with his lips and tongue.

As Karofsky's lips prodded and plucked at my neck, he drew a slow line down to my chest with his tongue, then kissed his way to my nipple, at which point a moan loosed itself from somewhere inside of me. I felt the corners of his lips curl into a grin as he continued down towards my navel. As he lapped at my "inny," I could feel his eyelashes whisper against my skin and I arched towards him in pleasure. He then pulled me up to meet him, loosing a sultry breath that hinted along my skin until we met in another kiss.

I decided it was my turn. I felt less graceful than Dave, but smiled against his inquisitive lips and descended down his jawline and neck with pecks and deeper kisses. Dave leaned slightly back, allowing me access to him. I sat underneath him and let my lips and tongue marvel at him. His skin was soft and plum under my lips. He ran a gentle hand through my hair as I travelled down his chest. I noticed a thickening of hair under my tongue as I approached his stomach. "Sorry, I'm uh… kinda hairy" Dave said, but I plied lower with my kisses and then licked my way back up to his chest when I felt him tense as I got lower.

With his body, Dave burdened me down to my back again and then rolled to the side of me, his breath steady and contented, like mine. I lifted his arm and rolled onto my side, nestling into him as he let his arm fall onto me. I let my hand rest on his stomach and rubbed and glided it over the hair there.

"I know, I know, I'm hairy," Dave said apologetically.

"I like it," I insisted.

"Please, none of the guys in my scouts camp would let me live my pubes down."

"Please, they were jealous," I said playfully.

"I mean it. Y'know Finn Hudson? Never let me go a day without mentioning my 'freakish' pubes."

I rolled my hand over and glided the back of my hand over his happy-trail. I saw a prominence in Dave's shorts twitch and flushed. Dave looked askance at me, and I waited to see any other reaction. When he relaxed back, his hand sunk under the waistband of my shorts. I took that as a sanction and coyly floated my hand closer to the bulge I saw in his shorts. As I edged towards the waistband, I hesitated, and the pause in Dave's rubbing of my waist under my shorts told me we both felt the same apprehension.


	9. Chapter 9

Apparently, I need a class in body language.

What I had assumed was Dave relaxing turned out to be just about the polar opposite; as his chest and stomach fell, suddenly, they reached back up, and I heard a sob escape when he inhaled sharply again. Then abruptly, Dave peeled away from me, as is if my skin was caustic to the touch. I inched away, unsure of myself, lost for words seeing Dave break down.

"I'm sorry," Dave said as a sob wracked his body and echoed through my bed.

"Dave, what…" I began.

"I just… I can't, Cory," Dave said, wiping his hands over his face as a thought raced through my mind: _Is he hiding from me, or himself?_

"Dave, it-"

"Look, I just, I'm sorry," Dave continued, "I just… we can't."

"It's okay," I said, trying to believe it myself. Trying not to be selfish and push him.

"Look, it's just that-wait, what?"

"Dave, I'm not going to… I mean, okay…" I paused, trying to gather my thoughts. "I want to… with you. But, if you don't want to with me, it's okay."

Dave looked at me, perplexity evident in his eyes, as he said, "It's not that I don't want to," he paused and I could see a searching in his eyes, "I just, I can't, because-"

"Because it would make it real," I finished.

Dave straightened himself up on my headboard, a new look in his eyes-one of slight shock as he looked at me sideways. "Yeah," he admitted.

I suddenly felt very naked under his stare. I saw him looking into my eyes, but it felt as if he was looking at every part of me while I still struggled to understand so much of him. I moved to turn off the bed and dress, but felt the weight of Dave's hand upon my shoulder as I turned away, giving me pause.

"Look," Dave offered, "could we…" Dave's hand and voice trembled and clenched slightly as he spoke, "would you mind…" I turned back to him, curious, "maybe we could cuddle?" Dave asked, a slight abashment in his question.

I smiled in response, and scooted up on my bed. I felt as if Dave was folding around me as his arm wrapped around my back. He sank into the bed, his head resting on my pillow, and /I sank into him, my head resting on his shoulder. A faint insinuation of my soap wafted off of him, and I marveled at the electricity of feeling his body against mine. My heart raced faster as we settled into each other, but then began to relax and slow as we laid there. I didn't know how, but it felt even more intimate than what we had previously been headed for. Suddenly, my eyelids grew heavy, and it felt as if that heaviness spread out to my entire body. Dave sank further into the bed, and I sunk towards him. I felt and heard him as he put his head to mine and inhaled the scent of my shampoo. My smile grew hot against the crook of his armpit, and I glanced up to see him, eyes closed, simply _being_ there. I grew almost giddy with happiness at the thought of Dave being comfortable with me, and me with him. Us being us. Sure, we hadn't been clichéd and lost our virginity on Prom night, but this seemed right-it seemed better. I was glad to see Dave, for one of the first times in my memory, seeming comfortable in his own skin. I nestled back down and closed my eyes, relenting to the tiredness of my eyes and indulgence of sleeping with Dave, even if I wasn't _sleeping_ with Dave.

I thought waking up in Dave's arms would be incredibly sexy and exciting. But what the porn and romance movies didn't tell me, reality did.

I woke up, still tucked under Dave's arm, as a slight snore emerged from Dave's mouth. A coolness on the corner of my mouth jolted me awake, and as I craned my neck, I saw, to my horror, that I had drooled all over Dave. A puddle of drool had pooled under my cheek, and apparently my waterworks had gone into overdrive last night, as there was then a line of my spittle that had run down his shoulder. My cheek was still wet with it. I wanted to slip into nonexistence.

Trying not to wake Dave, I slid and slithered from out of his arm, and sought to dab up my embarrassment before he woke up. It wasn't hard. Dave was a heavy sleeper, thank heaven. After that, I simply stood beside my bed, looking down at Dave. I felt a little creepy, and hoped he wouldn't wake up, but I beamed again at the thought of Dave being there, in my bed, with me for the past few hours. I wish I could say a smile adorned his face as he slept, but really it was more like an uncomfortable look that resembled open-mouthed befuddlement. But Dave's brow was smooth of the lines of tension I so often found there. He looked less angry like this, less like the school bully and more like who I had come to believe was the real Dave.

Dave stirred and his face changed, snapping me back to reality. I knelt down and recovered the undershirt I had been wearing last night, slipped into it and padded out of my room. The rest of the house was cool, and I bumped up the thermostat as I headed downstairs.

I looked into the fridge blankly at first, but then inspiration struck me. I grabbed an egg and some milk out of the fridge and then set to work. I grabbed flour, baking powder and salt out of our pantry and measured them out into a single bowl, then added the milk and egg. Cooking was my zen. It was so simple for me- multiple things coming together to create something better. I added a bit of butter to the batter, then heated up a skillet. As I returned the flour and other goods to my panty, a little bag of butterscotch baking chips caught my eye and triggered a memory of a time that I had seen Dave eating plain butterscotch chips out of a ziplock bag at school. I grabbed the bag of butterscotch and a separate one of chopped pecans and poured some of each into the batter, then began cooking the pancakes.

I got about halfway through the batter when A) I realized I had made way too much batter, and B) I heard Dave coming down the stairs. I pulled out some plates, syrup, and butter, set them on the table, and awaited Dave. He turned the corner into my kitchen and I melted like butter on a hot pancake. He was still shirtless, rubbing an eye, and impeccably cute. I knew he'd kill me for saying it, so I settled for, "Morning," trying to sound as tired and nonchalant as I could looking at him barechested.

"Morning. Smells great," Dave yawned back.

"Thanks- hope you like pancakes, I kinda made a lot."

"Pancakes are great," Dave replied, taking the plate I had handed him.

"Go ahead," I said, "but you have to let me know if you like them or not."

"Dude, they're pancakes," Dave retorted dismissively. He took up three pancakes and, to my surprise for some reason, only put a little bit of maple syrup on them. He sat at the bar and took a bite, and an unreadable look washed over his face.

"Well?" I asked.

"Dude, butterscotch pancakes?" Dave said, enthusiastic. "They're friggin' amazing! How did you know I liked butterscotch?"

"It was a hunch," I replied.

"Aren't you going to eat any? They're really good," he said, as the nodded toward my empty plate.

"I don't like pancakes," I said simply.

"Then why did you make them?"

"For you," I said as I reached into the fridge and grabbed some yogurt.

"How can you not like pancakes? Especially when you make ones like this?"

"If you think my pancakes are good," I said, turning back to him, "you should try my cupcakes."

"I'm game," Dave grinned before he slung more pancake into his mouth.

I couldn't help but smile at him. I loved cooking, loved everything about the kitchen. I loved being able to share it with Dave, even if he didn't know how much it meant to me. We sat the rest of breakfast away in a comfortable silence as he ate pancakes and I grazed at my yogurt.

"So, about last night," Dave said, snapping me back into real life.

"Um, yeah?"

"I uh… I don't know…" Dave trailed off, and I could tell he was struggling for words.

I sat in apprehension and a slight fear.

"Thanks."

"For what?" I asked.

"For everything. The ride home, and…yeah, everything."

"No problem," I said, sifting my yogurt absently.

"I mean it. You're really cool, Cory."

"Cool in a friend way, or…" I pushed, wanting so badly to be wanted by him.

"Both. I… I feel like I can… I don't know, be myself around you. Usually, I don't get to do that."

"It's mutual," I replied, happy and giddy but trying to not let my voice betray me.

Dave scratched at his nuts absently and I felt my head go fuzzy. "So uh, I should probably go home," Dave said, and I realized it was 10 o'clock in the morning, the day after Prom and he wasn't home.

"Oh, sorry, will it be awkward with your dad?"

"Well, as long as I didn't get anyone pregnant," Dave said, grinning.

"Well, I didn't tell you, but I woke up with morning sickness- that's why I didn't have the pancakes," I said in a mock serious tone.

Dave grinned and slid his plate across the counter towards the sink. He walked around the counter and started washing the mess that I had made making the pancakes.

"I can do those later," I said.

"Or I can do them now."

I watched as Dave scrubbed and cleaned the dishes, laying them neatly on a towel as he rinsed them. I couldn't help but notice as little pearls of soapy water splashed up to find solace in the uncrowded fur on his stomach and chest. They bewildered me as I remembered the feel of his beefy stomach under the hair there from the night before. I shook my head and slid my spoon towards him as I threw away my yogurt. "I'm uh, gunna go wash up, then I can take you home," I said. "Unless you want to drop your tux off first."

"It's actually my own tux- Dad bought it for me when I turned eighteen," Dave said, looking up from the sink.

"Oh, well, then I guess I'll drive you home, unless you want to do the one and a half mile walk of shame," I joked.

"A ride would be great."

I came out of my bathroom to find Dave sitting on my bed, clothed and looking ready to go.

"Just a minute," I said, heading over to my dresser and fishing for something to wear. I let the towel around my waist fall before I realized that I was now comfortable enough around Dave to actually do that. I slipped into my trunks, then threw on a pair of jeans from my laundry pile and a t-shirt from my closet. Dave kicked over my shoes and I put them on, then we were ready to go. I led the way downstairs, a little reluctant to end whatever we had been doing here.

"Thanks again for last night," Dave said as I pulled into his driveway.

"No problem- but y'know what?" I replied.

"What?" Dave asked, a little anxiety touching his voice.

"I won that last race, and I'm pretty sure that was the only one that counted."

"BS," Dave replied, "even counting that one I was still ahead by like, forty races," he grinned.

"Nope, those didn't count. If you want a rematch, maybe we could arrange something, but until then, you lost to me," I said as David got out of the car.

He shut the door behind him and then turned around, and as I rolled the window down he simply said, "Challenge accepted," and strolled back towards his house.

I smiled the entire way home.


	10. Chapter 10

Hello again, readers! I'd just like to again thank you all for reading/reviewing, and for any support. I'm always open to constructive criticism, and I'm thrilled at the positive reviews I've received so far. If anyone would like to see anything in the story, I can't make promises, but I will try, so tell me if you'd like to see anything. I also take advice on my Tumblr, Karofsky's Webb! Again, thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoy! And just a note, this is one of my short, connecting chapters, but trust me, the next chapter will be good, then we'll move into season 3 canon as soon as I can!

I didn't see or hear from Dave the week following Prom. He wasn't at school, wouldn't pick up his cell, didn't reply to my numerous texts or Facebook messages.

It was like he had disappeared. School was… different. I could feel the tension there of people wondering about Dave. My tutoring sessions with him were cancelled. No one knew what happened to him. It seemed like no one cared.

**Friday**

"Cory," my English teacher caught me on my way out.

"Yeah?" I asked, willing this not to be a long conversation.

"I just wanted to tell you that you did a really good job with Dave this year."

"Well, we'll see about that at the final," I joked.

"Oh, haven't you heard? I figured since you were his peer tutor," he paused.

"Were?" I asked, confused.

"Cory, Dave is transferring, surely you got the notice that your tutoring sessions were discontinued?"

The edges of everything in the room got a little fuzzy and a heat rose in my cheeks as every ounce of blood boiled in my veins and water rushed to my eyes.

"Cory?"

"Oh, I didn't hear," I replied, thinking only of seeing Dave rushing from the gym on Prom night.

"Well, you did a good job. If you still want to tutor, I know a few kids who could use some help."

"I'll have to think about it, sorry, I've got to get to class," I said, already turning out the door.

"See ya after Spring Break."

AS I walked the halls, kids seemed like they were actually stepping out of my way. When I noticed, I realized it was because I was beet red, white fisted, and hunched over like I was an ape on the prowl to punch something. Okay, well, with my red hair and… less than intimidating build, I probably looked more like an angry orangutan, but you get the point. Angry homonini.

I paused at my locker, trying to compose myself. I felt a general rage at the student body. The one who voted to hurt Dave like this. I felt a shudder of ire wind its way up my spine at the thought of Azimio marking down Dave's name next to Kurt's on the ballot. I tried texting Dave.

Hey I heard you're transferring, what's up? Let me know. Can we talk?

**Saturday**

I had had enough the next day. I woke up after a dream of what Azimio had said to me in the locker room. I threw on some clothes and headed to Dave's house on foot.

By the time I arrived, the balls of my feet were sore from the pace my desperation had set. I knocked on the door and heard someone coming, hoping to see Dave. Mr. Karofsky opened the door instead.

"Oh, uh, hi there, Cory," Paul said awkwardly.

"Hi, Mr. Karofsky-"

"Please, Paul," he iterated

"Paul," I corrected, "Um, I was wondering if Dave was available?"

"He's," Paul looked back into the house before replying, "No, you know what," Paul said, opening the door and ushering me in with an resolute hand on my shoulder, "he's here, butI want to talk to you about something."

I walked in and Mr. Karofsky led me into the living room.

"Please, have a seat, Cory," Paul said, indicating the couch.

I sat, nervous, and tried not to look it.

"Cory, Dave… Dave had a rough weekend," he said, looking at me with a pain in his eyes that only a father could have.

"I know- Prom," I replied softly.

"Yeah. I know Dave doesn't think so, but I think he needs a friend right now. I can be his dad, but try as I might, I can't replace a friend."

I remained silent, watching as Paul struggled with what to say.

"He might hate me for it, but I don't think you were one of the ones who voted for him to be with-"

"iwasn't," I interjected.

"I didn't think so. So I was thinking, Dave and I were going to go on a fishing trip over break. I know it's last minute, but, would you come with us? Maybe, give Dave someone else to talk to besides his pop?"

"I uh… I don't know how to fish," I deflected.

"Dave's a good teacher, and I taught him everything he knows about fishing."

"Well, I'd have to uh-" I hesitated as Dave came into the room.

"David, what do you think of Cory coming with us on our trip?" Paul asked, nodding to indicate me.

"Uh-"

"I don't want to interfere," I put in.

"Nonsense," Paul said. A dad on a mission.

"Sure, whatever," Dave said.

"I'd have to ask my folks," I said, looking at Dave rather than Paul. He briefly regarded me as well, and when he did, I saw in his eyes a mixture of what I imagined was pain, fear, anger, and confusion. But they were all hidden under a thick façade of apathy and numbness.

"Okay, well, I'll let you and Dave talk- I'll call your parents for you," Paul said, standing. He left the room, and a silence like fresh-fallen snow muffled everything in the room between me and Dave and stifled the words from my mind and mouth.

I watched as Dave looked around the room-looked everywhere but at me. His jaw was set a little forward, his brow furrowed in anxiety.

"I uh, I'm transferring," Dave blurted. His eyes went to my face, but not my eyes- they were still distant and glazed with faux detachment.

"I, I heard," I stammered out. "I… it's horrible, what they did."

Dave finally made eye contact. I couldn't read his face- there was too much there that was wasn't there at the same time. I thought I saw a shade of a tear peak in one of his eyes before he looked away.

"Are you sure it's okay if I come?"

"It's… it's fine."

"Dave, you… I… I'm here. For you."

Dave didn't respond. Verbally, at least. But I thought I saw a little bit of relaxation, even if at the same time I thought I was writing my hopes into my perception. Paul came back into the room still on the phone. "Alright, well I'm glad Cory can come, I'll drive him over as soon as we're done over here," he said into the receiver as he looked at me and winked. He hung up the phone and asked "Who's ready for some fishing? We'll leave tomorrow, Cory, all you'll need to pack is clothes and a sleeping bag- we've got all the fishing and camping gear. As long as you two don't mind sharing a tent."

I felt my eyes widen against my will at the thought of sharing a tent with Dave. He looked at Paul with a shocked, almost disgruntled expression of surprise and confusion. I said nothing.

"Uh," Dave stuttered, "I guess, yeah."

"Okay," Paul said, "I'll drive you home, Cory, unless you two want to hang out?" It was clearly more of a suggestion than a question.

"I can walk, but I'd better get home- I haven't even showered yet" I smiled, trying to lighten my own mood so Paul wouldn't catch on.

"No, I insist."

I stood up from the couch in reply. Paul smiled at me and Dave, which drew a weak from Dave in return. Paul and I walked out of the house and to his truck in a tenuous silence. The quake of the engine tried unavailingly to fill the silence.

"Thanks for this, Cory," Paul said, patting my knee with a hand like only a father as caring as he could.

"Thanks for inviting me," I replied, trying to put on my own semblance of normalcy.

"I know fishing probably isn't the most appealing," Paul said, "but Dave needs someone to talk to, and you… you've been there for him. He talks about you more than he realizes I think. You're good for him- Dave seems more like Dave when you're around- not as angry."

"Thanks," I whispered. I didn't know what to say, what Paul had said meant more to me than anything. I still didn't think I was good enough for Dave, but he thought I was good for Dave. I turned out the window as the world blurred under the prickle of my rising tears.

"Thank _you_," Paul said in return as we pulled up to my house. "I'll see you tomorrow- pick you up around seven thirty?"

"In the morning?" I asked, shocked.

"You'll get used to the hours over break," Paul grinned in return.

"Okay, thanks, Mr. Karofsky," I said as I stepped down from his truck onto my driveway.

"Please-"

"Paul," I corrected.

Paul smiled, and backed out of my driveway, waving before he drove off.

I went back to my room and started packing for the next day, and apparently a week-long outing with Dave and his father.

This was going to be interesting.


End file.
